


oui oui vive la paris

by Black, smooshkin



Series: KingSlayer [2]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Adam Jensen gets a suit, David Sarif tries his best, M/M, and then promptly ruins it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smooshkin/pseuds/smooshkin
Summary: David Sarif takes Adam Jensen along with him to Paris on a business trip and runs into just a bit of trouble.





	1. hon hon hon

**Author's Note:**

> RP 2 out of like 16+ LOL
> 
> Smoosh's wonderful OC Sal makes his home here: [Pls click for hot french](http://smooshkin.deviantart.com/art/Ref-Salvatore-685612555)  
> Please admire his full beautiful head of hair and how well he fits into the world and his interactions with Adam. He may be French, but Sal has stolen my heart. 
> 
> There's more to come, I'm working on getting those post ready soon. 
> 
> ** Smoosh starts off first with Sarif, and then I follow in with Trash Child Jensen. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ;v; I hope you enjoy your stay and sink deeper into Jensif hell like we have been.

=*=

 

Adam had come back when Sarif asked him to.   
  
He felt awful giving him that call. He'd of been lying if he said he didn't miss him completely.   
  
He thinks even Frank missed him- bringing him up a few times unsolicited. Good guy, Pritch.   
  
David had left more gifts on his desk from his business trips. A signed bat. Wine. Whiskey. Bourbon. Stout. A glove.   
  
David had found himself bringing in another baseball one night, only to pause and blink dumbly at the one already there. Oh. He looks at the pile of stuff. _Oh._ Yeah- best not overwhelm the poor kid when he gets back, he'd think.   
  
He wondered if Adam had seen the offerings yet. He had to of.   
  
He brought back the Typhoon a few days ago, like David knew he could.   
  
He wanted to say 'go on back home, Adam. Take another few weeks off.' But he couldn't. Things had picked up some speed lately and he- well, he needed him.   
  
He had another idea anyway.   
  
He rolls his hand over the baseball on his own desk- having asked Adam to come meet him after lunch.   
  
"So-- I'm going to Paris next weekend. I did some work for the DGSE recently _and_ \--... I've got a guy I'm looking to uh-" He laughs to himself. "Lookin' to hire."   
  
He means poach from another company, if you knew David's wilier looks.

He looks up from his fidgeting at Adam.   
  
"I was hoping you'd come with me." He dips his chin, brows raised in some hopeful display. Sure, Adam can say no! I mean. I wouldn't like it. I probably wouldn't take that as an answer but he can say it.   
  
He smirks.   
  
"Nothin' rough, kiddo- though I will ask you to bring something just in case. However- Paris has been real good to me so I-- Well, I figured it'd get you out of here for a bit and uh-- Yeah, I'll take care of everything while we're there."   
  
David's obscure way of telling him dinner was on him. Adam may not be familiar with this.   
  
David's hands are clasped in front of him and his head is tilted. Dark eyes flicker this way and that over Adam, searchingly. He'd pause, lips tightening for a moment before he speaks.   
  
"How you doing, son?" A vague question. But an important one. He was still worried that Adam wouldn't tell him.   
  
Despite what he'd told him. 'You need to tell someone when you're not doing well, Adam!'   
  
He almost wants to reach over the desk and give him a little squeeze on the shoulder, just to remind him.   
  
Sarif rubs a synthetic thumb over his natural hand thoughtfully.

 

=*=

 

Adam didn’t exactly mind coming back.  
He still needed the rest and recovery - sure. but he was getting stir crazy; caught between couches and kitchens and beds. lingering in showers, shaking in his sheets. He hadn’t really known what to do with himself.   
  
and then Sarif called.  
  
his first day back was quiet, nobody really met his eyes. Pritchard returned full force into being an asshole, but Adam mostly hid in his office so he only saw him on his way in. he had opened the door to  
  
a mound of _things_.  
From Sarif - he guessed (correctly).   
  
he runs his fingers over the various bottles and thinks about what these must have cost Sarif - he then sees the signed bat and. smiles to himself. a baseball. he shakes his head in the slightest, reaching out and palming it. picking it up. turning it slow, the texture. muffled and mulled, but something familiar. it eased him.   
  
Adam sets up the bat and the ball near him and he...shelves the alcohol. a couple in his bottom desk drawer - others hidden cleverly. Technically he could take a drink - several drinks. it’s not like he’d get drunk; the creature in his chest hums in agreement.   
  
His first mission from Sarif was to retrieve the Typhoon.  
Did that.   
Save the hostages.   
Did that.  
Yune?   
Well - Adam wasn’t a stranger to watching people shoot themselves, or the aftermath of it. He had stood numb and just - watched the body fall. sputter to the ground and those augmented eyes looked right through him. through him.  
  
he didn’t sleep that night.

too many ghosts. too much weight. he tossed and turned in his sheets and ran his hands down his arms.   
  
Everything seems like a blur - Sarif is requesting a meeting with him and of course, of course he goes. he lifts his eyes when he walks into the office to glance at him and there’s a sudden hot curl in his stomach. phantom touches. fingers on him and in him and - Adam, calm down.  
  
he breathes soft, “You wanted to see me, boss?”  
  
Sarif explains.   
Adam watches him go through a range of emotions and he wants to quietly deny him and stay here and keep to himself but something dark lives in David’s eyes and Adam doesn’t think he’ll be able to get out of this, regardless of what excuse he comes up with.   
  
“alright,” he says softly - but David isn’t paying for everything. He doesn’t vocalize it, still shocked by the offer, but he doesn’t. want. to feel like added weight.   
  
and then the question.  
_the_ question.  
  
How am I doing?  
  
“Keeping busy.”   
  
I’m tired.  
  
“I think I just need some sleep.”  
  
My augs are heavy but they’re warm and they’re mine but they gnarl black against white and i can’t. i can’t…  
  
“Better than a couple weeks ago.”   
  
(he’s not lying.)

 

=*=

 

Sarif brought his hands closer and tilts his head the other way.  
  
Adam looks lethargic. He frowns slightly when his poor kid confirms his haggard look. Sarif tries to give him an earnest smile.   
  
Well, he agreed to come with him to Europe, at least.   
  
Sarif would be lying if he said he didn't need the company. Want it, even. He could of asked any of Adam's subordinates and they'd of been honoured to watch his back- but he wanted Adam.   
  
"Well- good... Good..." He trails off, not the best at reading how to cheer his Adam up yet. He pauses thoughtfully, eyes flickering to the distant, illuminated floor.   
  
Then he stands, suddenly. "So uh- heh- did you like the...?" He had begun to circle his desk, but hesitated before the last corner was rounded, keeping something between he and the other man.   
  
He didn't want to corner him. He got the distinct feeling Adam wasn't used to gifts. Megan was never much of a giver when it didn't seem to suit her goals simultaneously.   
  
David worried that he might of made Adam uncomfortable bringing it up. No! You don't owe me anything, really! My pleasure!   
  
He frowns between them, looking momentarily at his feet. Hm. Easy fix--! He can give him an escape from saying 'thank you.' Adam probably wasn't too good at those either.   
  
"Anyway, kid. I won't keep ya." He nods toward the hallway.   
  
"Take care, alright? I'll see you in a... few days?" His brows furrow curiously and his expression flickers as another thing crosses his mind.

"Oh, uhm.. Yeah-- By the way, Adam... If you need me to...To talk to Frank about-..." He draws his lips, hands splaying in the slightest of ways from his hips. He makes a _face._   
  
"You know how he is. Doesn't know any other way to be." He rumbles thoughtfully and then nods.   
  
"Anyway, I'll catch you Friday night..." He trails off, turning against his desk and circling it back to his seat.

 

=*=

 

Adam can tell Sarif is,   
trying to read him. those dark eyes near devour him - thought not in the desperate hungry way that he’s used to. he’s quick about it. that much is true, but there’s something pinpointed and precise about it. nothing messy, nothing strewn or open ended. there’s no bloodlust, no gory snap of jaws.  
  
Sarif, just is.  
  
and Adam keeps himself mostly closed up, off. Old habits, old habits. Something that may never die - Megan had always complained about his lack of voice. his silence. soft and malleable, but she never took the care to handle him. Never regarded the words scrawled into his skin, begging to be gentle. to be easy. He threw up his walls and bore his teeth when needed but  
  
Sarif is standing and Adam twitches in surprise - something hardly worthy of being noticed. noted. but, he - did he like the…? Adam thinks he may be referring to the gifts and he’s about to say something but Sarif stops. abruptly. There’s mild confusion for a moment and he can see some sort of process rolling in the other’s eyes. concentrated. heavy. curling and then clear. consideration?  
  
Hm.  
  
and then he’s dismissed, just like that. Adam’s shoulders slack a bit and suddenly things aren’t as - tense? were they ever tense? or was he projecting that? He motions forward as if to say something and then,  
  
Frank.  
Ah, yeah.

“I can take care of Frank,” Adam quips back softly, a small shrug. he could. can. will, when the moment arises. he tilts his head and looks at Sarif thoughtfully. someone who cares, actually cares. That didn’t look to his augs with any expression but his own; no disgust, no horror, no child-like curiousity. wonder. his face softens, a quiet _thank you_.   
  
he makes way as if to head out but pauses, half turning his body back towards Sarif.  
and lingers on several thoughts for a long, long moment.   
  
“Thank you,” he says after a moment, and he’s surprised how easy it comes, “For the bat, the ball, and…”  
  
he isn’t thinking of the liquor.   
  
“See you Friday.”  
  
And Adam is gone.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had never once found himself resentful of Adam's quietude. In fact, it rarely crossed his mind as more of an observation that Adam's reality was contemplative.  
  
Everyone was different and Sarif wouldn't have his own reality any other way. He liked Adam. A lot. Why would he wish him to be anything other than what he is?   
  
He grins fondly as the other had gotten up to leave, brows only raising when he sees him turn back part-way.   
  
'Thank you,'   
  
Sarif grins wider, mouths a silent 'oh..', looking away, giving his head a shake.   
  
"My pleasure, son. Though you'd get a kick out of 'em."   
  
He moves behind his chair, hands on the back as he leans his weight forward. Down. He looks down at nothing and smiles, listening to Adam's quiet footsteps.   
  
He loved memorizing everyone's unique pattern of foot-fall. He found that he could often tell who it was before they stepped into his office.   
  
Adam's were polite, but deliberate. When Adam moved, it was with purpose. Sarif liked that.   
  
A lifetime ago, he was told that a man unsure of his step was unsure of his own mind. A little bit of psychology he carried with him to this day.   
  
And to Friday.   
  
As promised, he had called Adam to him. To meet him on the helipad. It would be a long flight; Needing to stop in New York to top off fuel before crossing the Atlantic.

Sarif would have encouraged him to sleep on the way, commenting on his listless look while patting him on the arm. Meanwhile Sarif himself would have been balancing a classic double of neat brandy on his knee with a book on his crossed calf.  
  
He wanted to thank Adam for coming with him.   
  
He had stopped himself when he remembered that the man was obligated to, as an employee.   
  
When did Sarif want him to want to? He did. He wanted him to want to and the thought that he was pulling him away from 'Adam time' made him frown to himself the night before.   
  
He'd make sure Paris was a pleasure for him. To make up for it. He had the itinerary sort of planned. Athene helped.   
  
First day was settling. He always wanted to enjoy the cities for what they offered- get a taste before doing business. He'd meet his guy the next day and talk business over dinner. Then he needed to meet with one of DGSE's people. That shouldn't take too long..   
  
Then he wanted to do dinner privately. With Adam. He always liked to enjoy the city by himself. Always had security with him, of course. But this time he was hoping Adam would maybe-- enjoy the city with him.   
  
Things got lonely, you know? Can't a busy man want companionship sometimes?

He'd of glanced over at Adam briefly before they arrived.  
  
Paris was a bright city. Perfectly preserved. The French took such pride in their history- the energy was good here. They liked to share. They were eager to share, in fact. Sarif loved to spend money here.   
  
They knew him at the Shangri-La Hotel. He had a 'usual' room, according to the concierge. A two bedroom suite with a view of Eiffel Tower.   
  
The concierge grinned politely at Adam and looked down at her feet after giving his hands a subtle once-over. She had some sort of neural augment and her left hand was of Sarif make. They liked Sarif here, for sure.   
  
"I'm ah-- leaving this here for you in case I'm out, alright?" Sarif explained to Adam as he set down a credit chit on the guest end-table. He knew Adam would hesitate.   
  
"Let me be a good host! I'll take care of everything. Want for nothing while we're here, yeah? Just-- I'm serious Adam, you name it. I wanna.. I wanna show you that I appreciate your time--"   
  
He had brushed a hand over his hair thoughtfully. "You agreed-- and-- and I've been sendin' you all over hell and back I-.. I just want you to relax. You know.. Enjoy Paris."   
  
He didn't exactly tell Adam that he did also _need_ him. Habeas Libertas, the company his contact worked for-- he suspected they knew his intentions when he flew out. They weren't supposed to know, really. He could have sighed. This is getting complicated.   
  
He frowns at Adam.   
  
Yeah, real complicated.

 

=*=

 

Adam wouldn’t be getting a weekend.  
Nor much sleep, probably.   
  
Relax, they said.  
Relax, Sarif said.   
  
They don’t understand that outside of his four walled apartment his bedroom his shower his kitchen that he’s working. always working. tired. tiresome. always on his toes - never rocking back to his heels until he’s back through that door. it never stopped; Sarif had ultimately placed a load upon his shoulders that he could never begin to fathom. It crept and crept and blackened his shoulders and wrapped his arms and his fingers and maybe, just maybe the skin was still there maybe it was -  
  
But I digress.  
  
Friday morning he was met with concern from Sarif, that he should sleep. that he should get some rest. of course. of course. of course he’d say that and Adam isn’t mad, he’s just numb. tired. he flicks the glasses over his eyes and leaves them lidded - stares at everything and at nothing. a limbo. lingering. some sort of still frame faction that Adam can’t quite shake. the sentinel murmurs soft, fluttering across his HUD and he just.   
  
drifts at some point - he doesn’t feel like they’re moving. he remains. he reminds. he remembers. ridicule. rancour. the look of reckoning in eyes. in eyes. ending his life as man and beginning it as machine.   
  
he startles with a jerk when they land and he sits up, having slightly hunched over him his catatonic state. the move from there to the hotel that Sarif seemed so familiar to is a blur - he thinks briefly that something may be wrong with his neurals. he can’t keep focus - he’s even convinced that he saw one of the attendants look to his augs in curiousity, maybe a touch of adoration?  
  
Adam keeps that to himself, it’s something warm.  
firestarter - tinder.   
a color far from terror.   
  
he sees her hand - he finds himself maybe admiring it too.

Hm.  
  
When to their room, Sarif is immediately attempting to - offer to pay for everything and Adam opens his mouth to refuse and well - he does, he does this time, “Sarif no really you don’t - I came because - Sarif. David, I don’t really - “  
  
round and round. he finally quiets down in defeat, sighing through his nose and nodding. he’s too worn, lagging. fatigued. lethargic. waterlogged - touching the ceilings and seeping through the walls and he takes the moment to slowly find himself a seat and rest.  
  
Sarif wants him to relax and enjoy Paris.  
Adam lifts his eyes and combs through the escape routes in the room, everything that could and can be used as a weapon, and how far the doors are from the beds. scenarios upon scenarios, old habits. old habits.  
  
processing...

 

=*=

 

"Adam. As your employer it's my duty...Okay? Are you listening? My duty and pleasure to pay for your time and skill. Yeah? So just let me take care of everything." He had said, hands raised, palms down toward Adam to settle him.  
  
"All I want from you is to keep me safe. And enjoy the city." He was clueless to just how difficult this might be to do at the same time.   
  
Keep me safe. Enjoy yourself. Keep me safe. Enjoy yourself.   
  
Sarif had taken Adam with him to a meeting with the DGSE as soon as the sun returned. The General Directorate of External Security. David described it as France's CIA or SI:7.   
  
"There's no funny business with them, Adam, but I think they'd appreciate our caution, yeah? Come on, son. Let's take a walk." He'd grin at Adam in their hotel room.   
  
"Bring your gun." He tried to ask as non-chalante as possible.   
  
They were met in the lobby. A pair of men in suits. One with short, dirty blond hair and another with long black- tied back half-way.   
  
The former was short and stumpy- had small fingers and seemed easily overheated. Mid-40's with a swarthy look. He shook hands with David as they met outside one of the cafes connected to the lavish lobby.   
The latter was augmented heavily, much like Adam, and had an unfriendly look. Particularly at Adam, whom was given a narrow-eyed appraisal upon meeting. He hovered near the blond, who's name was 'Paget.'   
  
Likely as much Paget's bodyguard as Adam was Sarif's?   
  
The difference was that Sarif was highly eager to introduce his.   
  
"Sir- I'd love for you to meet my-- My security chief." Sarif had said, ignoring the hostess as she walked everyone to their secluded balcony table. The weather was mild.

He gesticulated to Adam. "This is Mr. Jensen-- You'll know him from-"   
  
"Yes, of course!" Paget had chirped excitedly, mousily. "I understand you made him sometime after Seigneur Salvatore, here. Mnyes. In fact this is why I was encouraged to bring him- do you remember--"   
  
"Sal- kiddo, I hardly recognized ya!" Sarif had beamed, reaching for the dark-haired aug, who grimaced in a half-smile, but relented to David's onslaught of American-like familiarity and hugged his arms as they alternated heads in no-contact kiss.   
  
Frenchmen...   
  
It seems those two were friends or something.   
  
David had gone on to enthusiastically explain to Adam that Salvatore was commissioned from him by the DGSE to be fitted with mil-spec augmentations to best suit a 'super-spy'. Paget would glance almost nervously at Adam any time this happened. Salvatore glowered at Adam from across the table any time he thought he might not be looking.   
  
"Oh- god. Adam. Wait 'till you taste the coffee here, son. do you like it black or...? Tell you what, let's try a few yeah?"   
  
He clapped Adam on the arm as he excitedly ordered for the both of them.   
  
"Would you ever consider another commission?"   
  
"What- for...? For more like Sal?"   
  
"Like Monsieur Jensen."   
  
"Oh- Uh..." David would have tensed up near Adam immediately, likely not expecting such a question.   
  
"I-- You know, the director never really mentioned-- uh--"   
  
"My apologies, it's more of an off-record curiosity." Paget had chirped, wiping his mouth.   
  
Salvatore gave Adam a hard stare. Augmented eyes flickering sideways, to Paget. The subtlest shake of his head directed at Adam. What on Earth was this about, now?

 

=*=

 

David raises his palms at him and all it does is   
irritate him now. on edge. a little electric.  
thrumming. thrumming.  
...calm down.   
  
he breathes. deep. in, holds, and then out. Something Malik taught him -  
  
“ _All I want from you is to keep me safe. And enjoy the city._ ”  
  
Adam’s teeth find his cheek and bite, momentarily. he think there’d be a tang of blood if the sentinel hadn’t of beat him to it. or - maybe that’s what that is. he didn’t know much anymore - everything tasted like metal that wasn’t sweet. that wasn’t coffee. liquor. The few things that could overpower.  
  
he says _nothing_. only narrows his eyes and stares through Sarif, shifting them to glance to one of the corners of the room and comb over everything in his head that he’s stockpiled. escape. escape. fight - which weapons. which way to run. a rabbit heart - stuttering and racing in the vicinity of the lion.   
  
When the sun makes entrance again, Sarif is already on the move. Adam’s joints ball, heavy, swollen with something - something. something tangible, something he feels under his teeth, between them. Adam had grabbed his gun long before prompted, tucked tightly in one of the inner pockets of his jacket.   
  
The pair they meet are - almost comical. Adam doesn’t smile - has no urge to - but he inwardly appreciates life’s way of fucking with him. Stout and chubby, the man is mousy and meek. Laughable - no, that was cruel. But Adam couldn’t help but feel a touch of it - even when he lifts his eyes to, what he assumes is, his bodyguard.

Augmented to the fangs and back, Adam is near appreciative to find someone as stacked as he is. He keeps quiet, though. doesn’t let it bubble up to his face. he only narrows his eyes behind his glasses at this - ah, dangerous enemy. He doesn’t even startle when Sarif begins to introduce him, eagerly. He catches Adam off guard though - he didn’t expect to be introduced as _security chief_ , but it made him sound authentic, right? a little more threatening. Adam is uncomfortable with the spotlight for a moment but then eases into it, subtly flexing his augs as they quietly whirr. what had he been expecting?   
  
...  
  
He watches them.   
They knew each other, someh-.   
Ah.  
Listens to Sarif tell him about commissions, about augging other people and there’s some sort of unease that rambles down his spine - barely concealed as a shiver. Every time Adam glances at the two through his glasses, he’d experience either nervous energy or eyes that echoed the snap of angry teeth.   
  
he bristled on his own accord.   
  
only half listening when David orders them coffee,  
and fully listening when the pudgy man asks about another commission.  
something…similar to him.  
  
David tenses, freezes up. It’s somewhat of a relief - to know what he wasn’t being used as some show model, some aug display case. he instinctively leans forward a little, the barest of movements and his eyes flicker up to Salvatore. Catch the movement and he glances over to Paget as well, and then back at.  
  
his brows raise in the slightest, just over the top of the lens.   
  
Not the slightest clue.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had frowned at Paget.  
  
"Ah- well." He glanced sidelong at Adam. There was some conflict there, difficult and abstract. Not only was Adam unique, but -- Well, he needed a break from being Daedalus for a while.   
  
But.. Maybe--? No. No, David. He already had his Icarus to keep safe.   
  
"Adam here- He's a special case. Ahh- And-You know!-- having a little temperance is--"   
  
"Yes.. He is a special case, isn't he." Paget kept the napkin over his mouth for a moment as he glanced at Adam. Unreadable.   
  
Sarif made to speak, but Paget interrupted him again.   
  
"You've always been the spear at the head of the boundary-line, Monsieur."   
  
Sarif lowers his chin and eyes the blond carefully, seemingly reading him. A look Adam might recognize the night Pritchard had him confront the boss about the firewall.   
  
Paget continues. "What has you so scared of extending it further this time?" Wily- beady eyed.   
  
Sarif looked like he was about to return with a bite. "I d--!"   
  
The waitress had arrived, cutting through the apparent tension in their conversation, causing the two men to lean back suddenly.

As the woman leaned in to set down the coffee and plates, Paget mumbled something about the coffee here being a little too bitter for him. Salvatore reached under her to place an augmented hand on Adam's, trying to get his attention.  
  
"Don't trust Paget to know what good coffee tastes like." Salvatore had a very strong French accent that nearly obscured his words. The most imperceptible pause after the swarthy little man's name might of been a hard catch. He made hard eye contact with Adam from around the waitress and, as she leaned back again- he seemed to be looking up for the first time.   
  
"So you're the notorious Adam Jensen.  You won't have heard of me because... I'm good at my job and am rather more subtle than you are, I should think."   
  
He looked Adam up and down in that snooty way only a Frenchman could.   
  
He pulled his hand away in favour of nursing his coffee.   
  
Sarif and Paget were clueless to the exchange.   
  
"Look, I'm not gonna just flat out... Deny the Director General if they need more. All I'm sayin-... Is if they do, I'd need... Well- there's a lot of planning involved. It's a process."   
  
He glances at Adam, as if in thought. Almost blank. "And we've got a lot to do right now."   
  
Paget nods quickly, lowering the napkin to his lap once more. "Oh, yes. Understood, understood. Again. Curiosity." He smiles with a small mouth and nods again.   
  
This seemed to serve to smooth Sarif's hackles and they returned to friendly small talk.   
  
Salvatore had his legs crossed and turned mostly away from the table.   
  
He glances sidelong at Adam, though doesn't turn his head. He drinks from his own coffee.   
  
"How do you like security work, Jensen?" His tone implied it was a little more than pleasantry.   
  
"You need to be on alert at all times, non? Misfortune..." He paused. "-It can come from any angle."  He looks into his coffee quietly before setting it down.

 

=*=

 

Adam listens intently, keeping close to David and glancing back at Paget as he spoke about _him_ , him. As if he wasn’t even there. An design to be bought, to be sold. He fights the urge to glance at Sarif.  
  
                                       _Please_  
There’s a subtle curl in his lips and  
he’s fought bare the urge to bare them, but resists. resist. Adam. he settles, remaining tense - thought any sort of overreaction would leave him weak, would leave Sarif unprotected. He’s trying to get under his skin, unsettle him - or maybe that was paranoia - but even that had saved his life more times than he could count.   
  
Adam does finally shift his eyes to Sarif and he sees that look. _that_ look, something familiar. something sharp and prickled with teeth - clawed around --  
  
the waitress interrupts the would-be bloodbath and Adam’s tension does not ease. It lingers. there’s a near startle though when something(one) touches his hand and he’s lifting his eyes up to look. look at Salvatore - the touch is strangely intimate and Adam narrows his eyes at the sensation.   
  
“ _Don’t trust Paget_ _  
_ _  
__to know what good coffee tastes like._ ”   
  
Well, Adam Jensen wasn’t a cop for nothing. He gives the smallest of nods, a tip of his chin - and their eyes catch. burning with intensity. some sort of strangled, strange understanding. The waitress pulls back and they’re left to meet again, for the first time, a little more detached, a little more biting.   
  
“I haven’t heard of you because I don’t care.”

Maybe Salvatore was just trying to be convincing - Ah, Adam could argue the same thing. The hand detaches from his as well and - he looks at the coffee. He doesn’t trust it. he doesn’t touch it. the cup creeps near and he just gently nudges it away, unable to find the want for it.   
  
Paget says something about curiosity, and Adam remains bristled. on edge. he drags his heavy eyes over to Paget again and he feels the urge to pounce, to leap and shred and vein this little mouse. hackles raised, ready. ready.   
  
Though he glances back at Salvatore at the question, training his eyes on his every movement, his body language. the detached position away from the table, the -  
  
“It keeps me on my toes,” he answers, a low sharp rumble - much akin to a snarl, though not aimed to him, “Can never be too sure of who to trust anymore.” He notices the glance into the coffeeand it’s all the suspicion he needs in order to not touch his own cup. Sarif would be disappointed - but it would be far better than losing his head.   
  
“David,” he says, gruffly, “Don’t we have something to attend to?”  
  
Adam looks at him, eyes dark and his voice thick. Pick up on it, Sarif. You’re intelligent - something isn’t right, we need to leave.

 

=*=

 

Salvatore laughed. Nasally. Pearly, genuine. Or practiced.  
  
"What _do_ you care about, Jensen?" He retorted, still not looking in his direction. He settled in his seat and shifts his weight to watch the city instead.   
  
"Do you have opinions?" He asks, with a lilted tone that might be considered condescending. "You know- They call you Sarif's attack dog."   
  
Salvatore's brows raise conversationally and drop. Paget's squeak coming from the other corner of the table;   
  
"And so where first are you going to indulge in Paris before you conclude your business here?" The mouse asks the lion. A lion seemingly unaware of Adam's unease.   
  
"Oh- jeez. There's... There's a lot here I'm.."   
  
Sarif laughs, looking over his shoulder- out to the city.   
  
Paget uncovers the bowl and handkerchief near his plate. Sugar cubes. He uses a small spoon to collect one and moves to offer it to Sarif. Watching him as his back was turned.   
  
His eyes seem to flicker to the coffee with consideration, brow tensing in the slightest way. And then the eyes flicker in Adam's direction.   
  
"Monsieur, I do insist on adding sugar to this dreadfully bitter brew."   
  
Sarif turns back, brows raised. "Oh- jeez I- I normally don't do the sugar thing, Paget." He smiles, raising a hand politely and the plump man retracts it with another equally polite smile and nod.   
  
Sarif continues, a little quieter than usual.   
  
"I think I-- I think we'll stop and visit the Palais Garnier."

Paget's eyes flicker up from the table.  
  
"Yeah- I've... heard the dancers there are-- Well, remarkable."  David then turns to grin at Adam for a moment- Catches the look.   
  
Sarif's expression flickers the slightest bit. A frown- Then a practiced look of surprise.   
  
He turns back wide-eyed to Paget.   
  
"Damnit! Uhh- Monsieur-! Paget, you must forgive me I-- I planned this morning poorly and I actually have ah- Someone I really- really gotta meet."   
  
Sarif winces and makes a motion to his own head, before running a hand through his hair. Feigned stress. "This is why idiots like me have secretaries- hah- am I right or am I--?"   
  
"Oh, Monsieur, you don't give yourself enough credit. It has been a pleasure and a delight and I thank you for following up." The swarthy Paget got up as Sarif did, reaching to shake his hand.   
  
Salvatore's lips curl and he dips his head once at Adam. He winks with his far eye.   
  
"Try to stay out of trouble." A warning or salutation?   
  
Sarif tried to linger politely for a moment longer with brief small talk before patting Adam's shoulder and urging him with him.   
  
"Tell the director I'll be contact." He tells Paget, who smiles with tight lips, waving with his fingers only as he sat back down.

Sarif grins at Adam, catching the waitress as she passed to tell her it was on the room before they're in the lobby again.  
  
Sarif slowed his pace once they were out of sight and sighed, scratching behind his ear and looking near his own feet.   
  
"Yeah- so... Thanks for that son. For a second I thought I'd have to drink sugared coffee." He tries to smile up at Adam- but his brows knit into a frown quickly and he's grabbing the other gently by the arm. An apologetic touch he released as quickly as he gave it.   
  
"Ah-- Sorry, it's not funny... I know. I uh-- I got a bit of a feeling from that Paget character too. I was actually expecting someone else...Yeah-- Bit bizarre."   
  
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he lingers near a gilded stairwell.   
  
He seems to jump to life after a moment and begins to ascend. "So how about we go to the opera-house and catch a show tonight before I meet my engineer?"   
  
He seemed to put Paget and the bizarre circumstance behind him rather easily. Well... Sarif did always have a habit of looking forward...

 

=*=

 

“ _What do you care about?_ ”  
  
Adam doesn’t flinch, but the question sinks deep. settles. he doesn’t want to keep it close, near. he doesn’t want to, but it hooks. prickled in skin, under skin. he does not answer, nor does he spare Salvatore the glance, keeping his eyes on Paget for a moment, and then back to Sarif.   
  
“I’m aware,” Adam comments, voice flat - his tone indicating absolutely nothing past the point of acknowledgment. Sarif’s attack dog - an animal; it wasn’t far from the truth. Sarif had built him from the organs up; sought to stomach the blood to build the perfect pet -  
  
No, no. he thinks back to that night, briefly. chases the thought away. not right now, Adam. This was business, nothing personal. Couldn’t be personal. Personal got people killed. he shifts his eyes back to Salvatore and over again just in time to catch Paget fumbling with the sugar, having hesitated as if he was thinking of sweetening Sarif’s coffee without asking him; the mouse shrinks under his gaze and nervously asks, instead.  
  
Yeah. Don’t trust the coffee.  
Noted.  
What a shame.  
  
David turns to look at him, with a grin - something genuine. warming. he’s almost saddened to have to ruin that. his brows push together subtle, a flash of concern, before parting again, turning to look at the pair across from them.   
  
David begins sputtering; Adam doesn’t stand immediately. That would show he’s too eager to leave, that he’s caught onto something. He has no doubt that Salvatore knows - but Paget seemed to be unaware, he intended to keep it that way. He rolls his hand, still feeling Salvatore’s earlier touch. something lingering; not a physical feeling, nothing hot. nothing cold. but something unsettling.   
  
“ _Try to stay out of trouble._ ”

Adam looks over to him again, his lips twitching in some crinkle of a snarl - formality. he rolls his fingers against the table again, dropping his eyes to stare at the cup of cooling coffee. He’ll make sure they find something a little less _bitter_.   
  
He only nods to the warning as they stand, urged by Sarif to follow and Adam can’t even find it in himself to smooth the tension from his joints once they’re alone. he does raise the lens though, rubbing at his eyes - they’re no longer sleep worn post augging; but it’s an old habit. they catch in the light when he looks to Sarif abruptly, narrowing them in concern.   
  
“What do you mean you were expecting someone else?” the gentle touch given a moment ago suddenly festers into something cold; his teeth catch his cheek to calm himself before he continues, “And you still sat down to meet with a complete stranger?”  
  
Adam feels isolated, suddenly.  
  
What do you care about?  
  
“Boss, what’s going on?” He’s snapping his teeth with a hushed clatter, the flare of anger barely evident in his voice, “I can’t exactly relax as you keep asking me if you aren’t being honestly about your intentions regarding this trip.”   
  
He completely ignores the offer of a dinner and show, pausing on one of the steps and tilting his head at him. a silent warning. a thread is fraying; how willing is Sarif to cut it?

 

=*=

 

David's grin softens in concern when Adam isn't so easily driven past the worry. He swallows thoughtfully.  
  
"Just that! I thought I was gonna be meeting uh... Sal and his case officer. Paget, I- Well, I'd only heard of him."   
  
Sarif's brows furrow together, though not in anger. His eyes flicker between both of Adam's.   
  
'-complete stranger?'   
  
"Well, I--!" David's voice caught in his throat.   
  
"Sal was there. I worked on him! What was I gonna do Adam?" He gesticulates, pausing with a hand on the gilded banister and the other splayed at Adam.   
  
"Turn him away? I can't do that. DGSE is a _good_ client. I need good clients, Adam."   
  
He had turned away and begun to climb again. Adam asks him what's going on. His forehead wrinkles.   
  
"Nothin' Adam! Nothing's 'going on', son. Now how-- How about that opera, huh?" He turns to give him a hopeful glance over his shoulder.   
  
The glance gives way easily to anger, as it had weeks before. "Intentions! Jesus- Adam! You're makin' me sound obsequious..!"   
  
A hand plants on his forehead and brushes back into his hair as he looks away in a hurry at the curious look from Adam- paused between two marble steps. He only hesitates for a moment.   
  
"Look-- I.. There's nothing shady going on here, Adam. I _promise._ "   
  
He gives him a briefly pleading look, hands on his hips now. The concierge passes the bottom of the stairs and glances politely up at them. Perhaps checking to be sure David's earlier shouting wasn't something she should help with. It wasn't-- and she quickly turned away.   
  
David had paused until she left, his expression softening. The seconds of polite quiet giving him time to think. Ok, so he had sort of failed to be entirely honest. But it wasn't intentional! He really did want Adam to relax but-- Fuck. How could he tell him-?   
  
He realized he'd been leaning towards Adam aggressively and corrects himself, sighing as he takes a careful backward step up the stairs.   
  
"Come on, son." He rumbles, frowning dramatically when he turned away.

 

=*=

 

Adam just, listens to him.  
He almost wants his eyes to tire; wants to feel that old ache and burn of a headache coming on, of needing more sleep. Because fuck - he definitely needed more of it right now. His thinning patience was the only indicator. Left a bad taste in his mouth.   
  
He says nothing as Sarif goes through his sputters his excuses his motions his misinformation and he’s. tired. he’s so tired. he wants to be able to trust - he wants to be chase the doubt from his mind, mouth; banish the creature peering around corners. corrosive. jaw pried open and fur sloughing from it’s home.   
  
It shakes with acknowledgement, he tries to ignore the rattling.  
  
“You said the exact same thing to me about the firewall,” Adam squares his shoulders but he slowly starts up the stairs, not wanting to draw too much attention. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that he and David were bickering. That maybe, just maybe, something could get between them.   
  
Adam already had a hammer, he didn’t need anyone else to drive the nails into the coffin for him.  
  
“That there was nothing to hide, that Pritchard was just being paranoid.” he glances at him as he passes, glancing away as he notices Sarif can’t even meet his eyes, “and yet in the end, you had something to tell me after all.”   
  
His chest rumbles with some soft noise - akin to disappointed. He thought that maybe after that situation, that things could ease between them - that everything strung up between them could loosen, slack. slack. his shoulders slack and he’s looking down at him. looking into his eyes. churning, whirring with something  
  
tired.  
  
“ _Do_ you promise, David?”

his voice dips low, crunched tight with gravel. He crosses his arms over his chest before he turns to continue walking up - the lens flicking down again. eyes to the marble, staring to it. through it.   
  
It wasn’t hard to tell that Sarif _was_ hiding something from him and maybe he shouldn’t be worried --- the thought crosses his mind for a moment before he chases it off - no, that exchange definitely left him far more than unsettled. Paget was too conniving and Salvatore was too willing to sell him out.   
  
He didn’t trust either of them -  
  
Adam lets his eyes flicker to Sarif, and gives a sharp, silent sigh in the wake of their disagreement.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had tried to play this cool. Play it off.  
  
Adam had him cornered easily and he rolled his shoulders at the accusation, trying to slide under the swipe of claws.   
  
Ordinarily a glancing blow on his touch hide, Adam had a way of getting under his skin regardless. He frowns at him as he passed.   
  
He sighs tersely through his nose. He _did_ have something to tell him and- ohh-.. Adam was too smart a kid for his own good. Sarif looked- pained.   
  
He paused at the top of the stairs, now in the hall that would lead to their room. He stopped before he reached the bright sunlight spilling through the windows and turned around, wringing his augmented wrist with his other.   
  
"Adam.. I-" He looks down at his feet with a furrowed brow.   
  
"Boy- you're gonna... You're gonna be a little frustrated with me, aren't ya." He begins. His eyes flicker testingly up to Adam and he might of looked like a dog caught having broken something after you get home.   
  
He was slightly aware of himself then and swallows, regaining his posture. He tries to reach for Adam to give his bicep a little squeeze to make his point. "I don't want ya to-.. To think I'm trying to pull the wool over your eyes or anything I-"   
  
He tries to urge Adam closer to the wall, out of the thoroughfare.   
  
"Look, kiddo.. I-" He was having a hell of a time wording this.   
  
"I guess I wasn't entirely-- _accurate_ about the nature of the trip-- you're right. Truth is..."   
  
He scratches his neck quickly.

"I was supposed to meet with Sal and his case officer and discuss the uh-- Well- we were gonna follow up on his surgery- yes. And-- I _do_ know Paget he's...Well- I know _of_ him."   
  
"But he wasn't supposed to be our concern, see? the DGSE didn't tell me I was gonna meet him in person I--"   
  
He grimaces, realizing this wasn't exactly what Adam wanted, perhaps. Adam was concerned over something else.   
  
David narrows his eyes at himself when he realizes it was more the fact he hadn't told him. That was the whole problem with the firewall, too. Damnit- David.   
  
He sighs.   
  
"Bottom line is... there's some kind of mole at DGSE. My comin' to France to meet with an engineer was supposed to flush this guy out-- and give them an excuse to nail him but--"   
  
Earnestly, David was also confused. He narrows his eyes and reaches to cover his chin; Pensive. "I wasn't supposed to come in contact with the guy."   
  
Eyes flicker to Adam.   
  
" _Honest_ , Adam. I'm as clueless as to what went on there as you- Forgive me." Calling him clueless wasn't entirely accurate. Buh.

"Look I- Adam- I'm- I didn't mean not to fill you in I-- Nothin' was meant to happen so I figured I could handle it! Sal was sitting there with him- apparently on good terms, what was I to do?"  
  
He gives Adam a look. "Also the man I came to meet sold me out to Tai Yong and..." This was ridiculous. "Ok- look, do you see why I didn't tell you? It'd take days to explain!"   
  
He points an accusatory finger in Adam's direction, suddenly misdirecting the frustration he was giving himself trying to explain the apparent intricacies of such far-reaching inter-corporate espionage. His tone grows just that bit more harsh and he gives Adam a hard look.   
  
"I pay you to follow my lead and keep my back bullet-free, Adam. Can you understand why I just don't have time to tell ya every god damned thing about what I do?"

 

=*=

 

“I wouldn’t be frustrated if you would just tell me the truth.”   
  
Adam’s tried of this argument now; He didn’t need miles of explanation. He just needed to know enough about the situation to better keep Sarif alive. Who was coming after him, who was seeking to harm him, a little background on the company. what to expect upon a meeting - so that he could tell something was wrong upon first glance.  
  
You know, the important details to better him as a bodyguard. to better prepare him in times of possible attack. Sarif withholding important information made his job harder; and that’s what this was after all - a job. To keep him safe - maybe a couple outings between - but in the end, that’s why Sarif asked him to accompany him. keep him company.   
  
he allows Sarif to squeeze his bicep - but the augs tense at the touch. blossoming and whirring under his fingers. it rattles up into his shoulder and nestles tight in the seams, the gnarls sleeping deep. he. eases a little bit to the touch, shoulders easing soft with the lull of fading tension.   
  
Alright.   
  
he looks to the floor thoughtfully as Sarif explains the varying variables and situations of things involved with the people he’s dealing with, who’ve they’ve just met. Sal is a familiar, Paget is not. Neither can be trusted - There’s a mole. David was genuinely confused about Paget attending that meeting, being there _with_ Sal.   
  
consideration, “I don’t think they are on good terms, Sarif.” he raises his eyes to look at him again, the lens sliding back to reveal the whole of his eyes, the whole of him, “Sal warned me about the coffee, and about Paget. He warned me not to trust him - I watched him try to slide that sugar in your cup without you knowing. He only asked because he noticed me.”

a pause.  
Adam settles a bit.  
  
“That’s all I wanted to know,” he raises a hand some, rolling his fingers, “Boss, I _need_ to know the things that can help me keep you safe.” his eyes aren’t yet to pleading, but they are a little softer now than they had been, “When you leave me in the dark, you leave yourself open an easier target.”   
  
He crosses his arms over his chest again as the finger is suddenly turned around on him and he looks unimpressed. worn out. he knows this game; he stares it down, letting his eyes thunder up his arm before he looks into Sarif’s own directly.  
  
quiet for a moment, deflecting the attempt to turn the teeth to his own throat, “You’re withholding information that complicates the job that you _pay me for_ ,” he rolls his shoulders and then glances away, taking in everything around them to make sure they haven’t been followed. that nobody is watching. he sighs through his nose, shaking his head and motioning to the door. to go back to the room. he’s not so comfortable out in the open anymore.

 

=*=

 

Sarif feels him tense. Then eases off. He lets him go and frowns near imperceptibly.  
  
David. What are you doing, man.   
  
He watches throughout his explanation as the gears in Adam's pretty head whir.   
  
By the end of it, he felt even his brief anger quickly vanish as Adam kept his cool. Their cool. David found his fire bouncing off of Adam slough to a little spark and he's compelled to mimic his energy.   
  
And feel guilty for getting angry at all.   
  
He didn't have anything to hide behind out here.   
  
"I-- Yeah... Yeah, you're right." He looks down at their feet.   
  
"I shouldn't-- I didn't mean t-" He makes a face, eyes flickering sideways and he raps his fingers rhythmically on his hips. "You know... Leave you in the dark-...As you put it." He looks dejected for a moment.   
  
And then opened his mouth to speak. Wanted to tell Adam that he only felt bad that he couldn't give him a _real_ vacation. Wanted so badly to believe that he was doing him a _favour_ that he may of... lost touch with reality a little bit. He didn't say it.   
  
Adam gives him a welcome out when he gestures to the room. He glances down the hall and hesitates. Then nods. Drops his arms and follows Adam's lead. Back to the room.   
  
He immediately retreats to the study by the window and looks out at Paris. As he does. Any city was worth contemplating to Sarif.   
  
Though his attention were directed forward, he's still thinking about Adam. A pang in his chest when he remembers how pitiful the poor thing looked in his apartment. How he had gotten angry with him before opening up. He seemed to be doing better since their--   
  
Tryst.

Sarif crosses his arms.   
  
Can't really stand it. He turns around.   
  
"Adam..." He looks at the flower vase on the coffee table. "I haven't been real fair to you. I'm all over the place, aren't I?" He takes a step, turns and plops himself down on the tufted study chair by his leg, which he subsequently crosses.   
  
He frowns, pursing his lips sideways and gives Adam a look from under his brow. He's rapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. Deliberating.   
  
Deliberating.   
  
"Truth is- Yeah, I felt a little... Well- I meant for you to have  longer to rest. I guess I... obfuscated a little-- in hopes you.. In hopes you wouldn't be unhappy with me for calling you back."   
  
He's giving Adam an appraising, near-dangerous look. As if expecting something awful.

 

=*=

 

Adam…  
Adam feels most of the tension leave him with David admitting that he shouldn’t have lied to him, _kept him in the dark_ as he so, ah, gracefully worded it. It was as close to the word as he was going to get, he just nodded and tilted his eyes to the ground.  
  
thinking.  
  
there’s something thick between them - words unsaid. strung loose, strung tight. Adam looks through the thick of them, Sarif looks like he wants to speak. to say something further. David takes the out and heads back to their room and Adam follows, keeps to his back. Eyes off the ground, alert. meeting the eyes of every passerby, taking in their appearance. body language. who avoids his gaze, who doesn’t.   
  
he - he does manage to finally relax a bit once they’re back in their room. he closes his eyes and exhales heavy and slow. smoke. smoke. projecting it as smoke billowing, pluming - his fingers flexing like the claws of some dwelling dragon. an image of a beast rumored untouchable; how strange that it’s weakness festers inside of it’s own lair.   
  
Sarif immediately retreats to the window and Adam takes the moment of repose to gently tug his jacket off - he lays it over the back of one of the chairs and rubs at his face. he glances over and eyes the small coffee maker provided with the room. he hesitates. and his resolve is broken.   
  
While David lingers near the edge of the city to breathe, Adam brews at least enough coffee for two cups. he ghosts a smile at the hotel-grade cups, he nearly collapses them under the pressure of his augged fingers.

He turns at the mention of his name and turns his body half away from his current task, narrowing his eyes in thought as he listens to Sarif talk. all over the place. he glances up and watches the older man, taking a moment and then nodding to himself. Yeah, yeah he...definitely was. Adam just keep up with the man, and that was on a good day. there’s not much for him to say there further. he appreciated the words - the weight and shape of them; but he still had to process them.   
  
and then  
  
_a little longer to rest_.   
  
Ah.  
That. Makes him feel something. David hadn’t wanted him back so soon after all - he meant what he said about getting rest. It hadn’t just been something to say, hadn’t just been a comfort to smooth him over. He narrows his eyes as he. thinks. thinks. hands on him, palms ghosting over his thighs his shoulders his augs. chest. teeth at his throat with no intention to pull blood or alloy.   
  
...What do you care about?  
  
Sarif looks up and Adam is holding a cup of coffee down at him.

 

=*=

 

Sarif watches Adam's hands. When he said nothing, he finds himself looking away. Back to the city.  
  
He knew Adam was just being Adam. Quiet and elegant as usual.   
  
He glances back- eyes widening only slightly as he's surprised to see coffee proffered in an onyx hand.   
  
He looks up with bewilderment- but doesn't hesitate to take it with both his own.   
  
"Thank you." He says quietly, bringing it down to his lap.   
  
"Yeah- I guess we did sorta miss out on coffee- huh?" He continues, a little lighter as he feels the side of the mug for temperature.   
  
He stares at it. Stares. "You said.. Sal warned you about the coffee?" He had been remiss to not address that earlier. He was just now reminded.   
  
"Wait- really? So--Ah-..." His brow furrows in concern and he's staring hard at the floor.   
  
Adam had either saved him from near death or a kidnapping and it had been so casual. He sighs and looks back over at him.   
  
Gestures with his chin to the seat across from him.   
  
"If that's true, then Paget's not on good terms with the DGSE yet. And if they sent him to meet me- they--... Why would they do that?"   
  
He grimaces. "If they knew he was gonna fuck me? Why the heck--" He raps his fingers on the mug. His expression softens and he brings it to his lips.   
  
His glance flickers to Adam over the rim and he continues to look well after the mug is back on his lap.   
  
"Thanks, Adam." He rumbles. Almost sadly.   
  
"Luckily this time, it's a mystery for the two of us. I don't know if Paget will try again. Least we know Sal's on our side, yeah?"   
  
He hoped.   
  
He paused. And thought. He smiles lightly.   
  
"We're still going to the dance tonight, kiddo." He says, looking Adam up and down contemplatively.   
  
"You need a suit. I forgot to tell you to bring one." His hand paddles his knee and he's biting his lip in thought. "Yeah- let's-- let's get you a suit- grab lunch and then we're going to the Palais tonight-- Man- you're gonna look-... So good-....yeah?"   
  
He wasn't taking no for an answer.

 

=*=

 

Adam nods to the thank you, rolling his wrists a bit and letting his shoulders fall as he takes a drink of the coffee. impressed. it wasn’t often that he had hotel coffee so rich, though he chalked that up to experience having not stayed at many luxury hotels.  
  
He’d be taking advantage of that, later.   
  
Sarif’s quiet gratefulness smooths him over and he makes a low noise in his throat, “We missed out on coffee meant to harm you.” Adam shifts his weight just a bit, taking another drink, “We can always find some elsewhere.”   
  
and then he, nods. tilts his head at Sarif and looks at him. over him. back up at him, “yes, he did warn me.” Adam takes another drink and lingers on the thought for a moment, “he also warned me not to trust Paget.” he tilts his head thoughtfully and keeps his eyes on Sarif, “something to take into consideration.”  
  
he allows himself to take the seat offered, slowly sinking back into it and finding himself just a little less tense, a little more _here_. “Could there be a possibility that he managed to meet with you, without their knowledge?” Adam narrows his eyes as he mulls, “You said they’re good clients; do they have any reason to want to harm you?” a soft sigh, “If you were supposed to meet with someone else - I wonder where they ended up?”  
  
rolls his fingers against the arm of the chair, “may be worth looking into, or, it may tip them off that you’re aware of something if they are targeting you.”  
  
he’s about to speak again and -  
  
‘ _Thanks Adam_.’  
  
his brows raise subtle in surprise and he. keeps that close. something genuine. Adam appreciated genuine, especially out of Sarif considering their recent arguments. he just nods a bit, not wanting to push it any further with something vocal. he also doesn’t comment on Sal being on their side - he doesn’t want to give the man that much credit. If Adam knew anything, it’s that people had their own agendas. Regardless of who they stood with, or who they stood next to.

He wondered what Salvatore cared about.   
  
“We are?” it’s pulled from him rather quick, though he should always assume by now Sarif will still follow through despite whatever quarrels they may have along the way. “Sarif, I-”  
  
A suit. his eyes fall to the arm of the chair, his fingers. black against red; the fabric dips under the weight of them as he squeezes. “David, you don’t have to.” He was here to work - he didn’t need a suit to accompany him where he needed to go. wanted to go.   
  
he hides his confused look behind another drink of coffee, lingering on his thought for a moment, before glancing back up to look at Sarif. He doesn’t need to comment that a suit is going to be a decent chunk of credits, and that he was uncomfortable with that much being dropped on him. It was futile, though, he’s learned. David didn’t take no for an answer when it came to many things, and he figured this was just one of those things. He looks so excited, the anger that had colored his face a short while ago replaced with something brighter. that caught sunny in the corners of his eyes. the teeth catching his lip. trying to contain his excitement.   
  
Adam. finds. himself softening.   
Adam wants to believe that Sarif wouldn’t be this eager if he really didn’t want him to enjoy himself a little. There was no malicious intent hidden in any layers; Sarif was bad at lying to him. Guilt seemed to devour him when pressured.   
  
he shakes his head in disbelief and slowly stands from the chair, gently taking Sarif’s empty cup as well as his own and gifting them to the small wastebin nearby. “Are you ready, then?” he reaches for his jacket.

 

=*=

 

Sarif frowns dramatically. "Maybe." He tilts his head in mimic, deep in thought.   
  
"But that'd beg the question as to why Sal was there." His eyes flicker down, staring through the floor as he ticked down the possibilities one by own. None of which he really liked all that much.   
  
"Well... I definitely know not to trust Paget. He must be the--... He must be somehow responsible for-- I wonder who he works for?" He deliberates this for a while longer, and then...   
  
He had given Adam a tiny nod and a shoulder raise, though said nothing but 'thank you' afterwards.   
  
And then; "Yeah, we are! Hah- Kiddo- you think I'm gonna... Let this ruin my itinerary?"   
  
He enthusiastically downs more of his coffee as Adam expressed something that sounded an awful lot like 'I don't want a suit' half appearing like he was in a hurry to counter-argue.   
  
"I do- I do! Listen, I.." He's looking around the floor between them for some way to justify the suit. There's a dozen ways, but maybe Adam wouldn't care?   
  
He opts for the one he couldn't argue.   
  
"The Palais doesn't even let ya _in_ without formal-wear, Adam." He looks proud of himself and sets the coffee on the table. He leans back, crossing his arms after smoothing his own hair before letting his head rest on the back.   
  
And then, he wins. Adam gets up and collects his coffee.   
  
He blinks. Then grins broadly and pulls himself neatly up.   
  
"I am." He answers, just that little bit softer. He'd reach to hold the shoulders of Adam's coat up for him once he'd gotten it, at least to assist in the filling of one arm.   
\---

After which he'd have led them on an odyssey through the city to Rue Saint Honore. Apparently where his favourite tailor could be found. Apparently also a clue that Sarif had been to Paris many times.  
  
They certainly recognized him right away.   
  
The inside was like a small parlour. It was quiet and refined. David was met at the door within moments.   
  
They hugged. "French" kissed and- the lead tailor must have made a lot of David's outfits. He was dressed nicely himself and, quite stereotypically, had a measure around his shoulders. His hands were augged, as were his eyes if you looked close enough. His name was Ranier.   
  
He looked at Adam as Sarif had introduced him. It was a subtle up and down. He didn't seem to mind beyond that that David's chief of security and bodyguard needed a suit. He could have shrugged. Corporate types like Sarif always had their reasons, you know?   
  
He'd of very easily taken the measure to Adam, not at all concerned whether or not the poor fellow was used to this or not. Sarif sat nearby with his PDA and offered coffee.   
  
Adam would have been given coffee too after Ranier vanished with his measurements. Apparently he kept a healthy stock of David's favourite fabric and patterns.   
  
"He's one of my older clients." David had told Adam.   
"He had his hands done by me--  arthritis runs in his family and- ya see- I fixed that for him. So he could keep making art, ya know?"   
  
He nods thoughtfully at Adam. "If ever an artist is obstructed in his art, it's our duty to return him to his craft. The world needs 'em."

He would have had a bit of a conversation with Ranier as he returned. Adam would have been gently dragged over as Sarif gesticulated over his body.  
  
"The kid's got a great waist-- now, I think he needs a vest, yeah?"   
"Yes- A vest. It would narrow this out and... if I cut...here. Like this.. It brings the eye in- You see? In... then out... back in."   
"A genius, Ranier. You're a genius- Uh! Ya know- I'm thinkin- something neat and solid all the way around- the classic silk on the back is just too vintage for him- Right-? Adam? Too vintage? You need something sharp yeah? Like that handsome face of yours."   
  
David would playfully try to curl his fingers around Adam's chin and give it a tiny shake as Ranier scurried off to work.

 

=*=

 

Sarif gives him some answer that he can’t possibly argue.  
  
Adam looks unimpressed. Sarif looks proud of himself. “Alright, alright.” he waves it off, slipping into the coat as it’s presented to him, pausing with the moment, the act. strangely intimate.   
  
“Thank you…” he finds himself muttering, tailing out after Sarif, who seemed more than sure about where he was going. Adam’s eyes catch all the embellishing he hadn’t noticed upon arrival, all the colors, the detail. the people. the style of numbering on the room doors. he keeps pace with Sarif and  
  
keeps noticing things, on the way to Sarif leading him across the city. he keeps track of people, places, faces. street names. attempting to digest, struggling to ingest. it’s a lot to take in, his teeth can only keep a hold on so much, his mouth can only be so full. Adam had learned a lot time ago he not bite more than he could chew -  
  
he looks to Sarif, currently rambling on about the tailor he was taking him too. telling him how much he was going to love it - Adam feels a familiar flutter of warmth as he soon remarks on how _great_ he’ll look in a suit, how handsome.   
  
Hm.  
  
Adam takes the moment in which David greets the owner to look behind him, beyond them. To try and catch anything out of the ordinary. He catches a few people staring, though they turn near nervously as they meet his eyes. Adam wasn’t a stranger to staring; so many augs on a single person wasn’t exactly common. he was something dark, something looming. rooted heavy to earth, to concrete. he stepped with purpose. people stared.  
  
but he knew what to look for.  
  
  
he turns back when he doesn’t find it, fully stepping through and letting the door close behind him. He looks to the tailor and his eyes fall to those augged hands - admires them for a moment, admires the man for a moment. he lifts his eyes and glances around the parlour. escape routes. weapons. hiding places.  
  
lingering.

Ranier, as he’d been introduced, took his measurements with steady hands and he had allowed it. his skin crawled at the touch of someone unfamiliar and the urge to close his eyes teethed at him, but he needed to be alert. aware. he glances to the side of him and he snorts out a huff at the image of Sarif so relaxed, coffee in hand  
  
soon to find it in his too, when Rainer was finished combing over him.   
  
Adam pulls the lens back from his eyes as David tells him about fixing Rainer’s hands - David seemed to invest in the people that care about. that took care of him in return. He...lingers on this idea for a moment and breathes in, holds it for a moment, and then exhales. he catches sight of his own augs as he lifts the cup of coffee to his lips and   
  
What do you care about?  
  
He closes his eyes patiently as Sarif tugged him over and then let his hands flutter across his body, presenting. showing. talking and pinpointing and Sarif talked like he knew of all the best things for Adam and  
  
Adam trusted him. just nodded as he listened off cuts and colors and materials. He opens his eyes at the compliment and at the shake of his chin and raises a brow, amused. He lets his gaze linger on Sarif, feels the some swell in his chest and shivers as Sarif pulls his hand away.  
  
Craving. Craving what?  
A strange rush of emotions - detached; the want to feel secure. Adam swallows and finds himself a muted shade of surprised to miss the brief contact given.

 

=*=

 

Sarif wouldn't have noticed the shiver.   
  
Adam was tense, but he was always sorta-- It just didn't smack of unordinary to Sarif's vision and he retracted his hand to turn and return to his seat while Ranier worked.   
  
He'd of urged with his eyes and a slight gesture for Adam to take the armchair next to him as he read the news.   
  
He spoke quietly. "You know- Ranier's the real deal." He says, not looking up from his PDA quite yet.   
  
"He used to work for a designer here who disagreed with his surgery. Split off and made his own business. Good for him, yeah?"   
  
Sarif looks up and smirks at Adam. "So I-.. love to support him. It's important to... I dunno- be there beyond the act. Be that uh-..."   
  
He lets his PDA fall flat on his crossed legs, no longer interested in it. He brings his hands up as though trying to sculpt and give form to his abstract thoughts; Make them words.   
  
"Be present beyond just-- 'here's your new toy, enjoy life'! 'Cause- Adam. It's a fucking mess out there, kiddo. People just... can't ...They still can't always be happy for each other."   
  
He trails off, eyes falling between them. He sighs quietly through his nose.   
  
"I mean- things are gettin' better. People are excited about augmentation. But that's people. People as a whole." He makes a wider gesture.   
  
"Individuals? They can still get.. lost. They can hurt. They can suffer. Whatever the case. Individuals suffer. People will be fine." He rumbles and glances back up at Adam.   
  
Adam suffered, didn't he?   
  
"Do ya... get what I'm sayin' to you, son? Why this is important?"   
  
Why you're important to me.   
  
He reaches over carefully to squeeze the man's wrist.

 

=*=

 

Sarif’s hand pulls from him and Adam is lost, for a moment.  
Pull yourself together.  
He sighs heavily and closes his eyes again, balling up whatever had festered in the pit of his chest and shoved it down to his stomach. Was better to feel sick than -   
  
Open again and he’s glancing to Sarif, nodding and following the motion to sink into the armchair as directed. In the moment he felt more hollow than whole; something missing. something missing. he hasn’t felt like this since that night that he and Sarif had in his apartment. wandering, wandering. fogged in some sort of inhibition. shaky. trembling. some shell of his former self, stuffed with meat and polycarbonate. he’s. tired. he’s been tired since he’s woken up and he thinks he can see it  
  
black and white,   
bogged and shaggy; teeth peering in from around the corner. sitting pretty at the parlour, he lets his eyes fall to the floor and details are all a little duller. desecrate. clawing at the carpet.   
  
self-carnivorous. teething flesh from bone too tired to atone - self destruction has long passed but the urging to carefully severe the muscle from metal is sometimes an afterthought in the attacks. he was supposed to be strong; he stood alone.  
  
Sarif is talking and he listens, for the most part. somewhat here. mostly there; curling his fingers in the dewy grass and listening to the gurgled-growls reverberate in his chest.   
  
And the words catch him, like the snap of fingers to a dog.  
  
It’s important to be there beyond the act. He happens to hesitate and he. leans forward, still not looking to Sarif but the words are wrapped tight to his neck; he thinks he’s never seen them before. they jigsaw in his skin; he watches his fingers flex. had he been moving them?

he unfurls them.   
  
“Yeah,” he doesn’t trust the sound of his own voice, so that’s all he says. that’s all he says. he listens. he says nothing. he only nods. stares at the floor. he glances up. the fog receding. something is here.   
  
Rainer looks at him from a distance.   
  
Adam nods, nods at his explanation of importance and he lifts his eyes to Sarif, and then away again as there’s pressure on his wrist. Before he can even think on it, his hand turns in Sarif’s grasp to squeeze back. grounding. here.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had looked at him expectantly.   
  
He didn't quite get what he had expected. Not in a bad way.  
  
Adam turned his hand around. Squeezes back.  
  
Sarif's eyes flicker down and back up in a hurry. Was that intentional? Of course it was--  
  
He clears his throat and grins, quickly bringing his other hand in to clasp under Adam's lifting, and pulling both away (and leaning back into his seat; when did he lean forward?) after another earnest squeeze; as Ranier had approached.  
  
He'd come to show them some fabric.   
  
Sarif knew immediately which to point to- the one that complimented his Adam best, of course.  
  
And then they'd spend some time waiting. Sarif would try to talk to Adam about pleasantries.   
  
Something lighter than human nature.  
  
They'd go to lunch. They'd return.  
  
Ranier would have urged Adam to strip so as to properly model the suit. Sarif followed.   
  
Black trousers, Italian leather ankle boots, black vest, white shirt. It was classic and yet, contemporary and sharp. The inside of the vest had been lined in gold, the lapels in gold brocade. Gilded fleur. Ranier would have passed something into Sarif's hands as he approached Adam.  
  
He'd carefully fold up the sleeves to his elbow. They were cut in such a way to be worn like this exclusively. Stylish, functional. Both.

"See- this-..." Sarif narrows his eyes to focus on pinning through the gold pyramid cufflinks. "This shows off those gorgeous arms."  
  
He grins, sliding his hand down over one of them while Ranier worked in the background carefully folding Adam's clothes into a leather garment bag he quietly promised Sarif he'd send to their hotel room.   
  
Sarif brushes a hand over Adam's leg. Moves up to brush off his front. Stray threads, imagined dust, whatever.   
  
"Jesus- kid." Sarif had said, moving around behind him to adjust his shirt- and vest. Fingers dipping in and around his collar. "Told ya this was a good idea."   
  
His eyes flicker up to eye him through the mirror.   
  
"Told you. You're beautiful." He lingers, as if to be sure the thought stuck. He strokes a hand carefully along the side of Adam's head, smoothing the hair behind his ear.   
  
Ranier didn't bat an eye at the exchange as he approached with a suit jacket for David to slip into. Something he'd likely commissioned before arriving. The inside was lined with gold as well. David's own shirt was threaded with a few strands of the same.   
  
You'd have to squint or be near to see it, but when you did, it was quite lovely.   
  
David would have been back on Adam soon after though, with a narrow-tie he would have been gingerly wrapping around Adam's neck before turning down the collar over it.   
  
"There ya go..." His eyes flicker up and down. "You could be king, you know that?" He adjusts the tie a little more before stepping away to finish up with Ranier.

 

=*=

 

Adam is almost relieved that Sarif returns the touch.   
  
Even goes as far as to touch him further, come into his space and Adam can feel himself start to calm, comfort. the fog rolls away, the beast recedes. he’s left aching with the need for that touch. Such a strange thing to admit to himself.   
  
He only briefly eyes the fabric - lets Sarif approve it.   
Sure.  
  
Small talk is made before they head to lunch.  
Pleasant, something light. something that didn’t weigh him down.  
Sarif spoils him - yet again - and bestows more coffee upon him. This time from a small stand on the way back. home brewed, expensive. he grabs it without a second thought and Adam almost smiles at the gesture. he grips the cup firm as it’s pushed into his awaiting hands.  
  
It’s the best coffee he’s had in weeks.   
He finishes it as they get back to the parlour; he disposes of the cup and tucks tight to Sarif. Safe. Safe.   
  
Rainer asks him to strip and he hesitates. lingers on it for a moment before he finally slips his coat off. folding it with care, setting it aside. the shirt. everything except his boxers; he feels eyes on him and for a moment he’s insecure. there’s unfamiliar hands near him and then there’s   
  
Sarif; taking over. He sighs through his nose and relaxes; his chest swells with it and he has to resist the urge to close his eyes. to give into that energy. Sarif folds up the sleeves to his elbows and comments on his _gorgeous_ arms and Adam finds himself flexing them. the touch is electric - the circuits the muscles the sections all talk and talk and move and they strain against the folded sleeves - the perfect amount of give to accommodate them.

His leg reacts to touch as well; he feels grounded. rooted. he can feel the heat from his fingers drag, careful. careful. with thought.   
  
_...to be there beyond the act._  
  
There’s a heat that simmers in his stomach as he remembers those fingers on his hands on him and the touch, fucked into the bed and then presented to the mirror. broken, broken but wholly human, wholly pretty - fragmented with self destruction.   
  
He closes his eyes - finally. giving into it. Sarif’s hands move along his neck and there is a split second panic. a flare of heat, a desperate scatter. his arms clatter softly as he urges the blades to stay back.   
  
_You could be king._  
  
A throne, a throne. a beast curled to his feet and adorned in gold. blackened hard with soot and ash and blood; he ghosts a smile - having not noticed he leaned into the provided touch. a little dazed with the compliments, “David...” The name is a rumble, no malice, no warning - only a low noise, just for him.

 

=*=

 

Sarif felt. Something. From Adam with his hand near his throat. He'd of paused for a near-moment, before continuing.  
  
He's deliberate, but slow. Careful. Yes- he'd already learned that Adam was... fragile.   
  
'David...'   
  
Sarif lingered, his fingers curled over the tie as he'd tightened it. He can't help but smile. Adam's eyes had closed and he-   
  
Brushes his knuckles over his jaw.   
  
"Adam." He answers quietly. Deliberately. I'm here.   
  
He left. Finishes his business. Packs up. And together they leave again.   
  
Paris was cooler at night. It had a different energy. It was bright and yet misty- the waters of the Seine might be responsible.   
  
But this mist was light. Flirty. Not obscuring.   
  
David found himself actually resisting putting an arm around him. He resisted. Adam wouldn't want-- Would he?   
  
Would he want that?   
  
They went from the rue Saint Honore through the Jardin des Tuileries to waste a few extra minutes. David insisted.   
  
It was clear that a few garden-goers recognized his rather famous face. Parisians felt entitled to his presence, in a way. They would look on the two of them with an almost familiarity.   
  
Of course David Sarif would be here with... who is that? He's so handsome.   
  
No one looked twice at Sarif and Adam as they walked the rue along the Seine with any kind of...distemper, however. They'd maybe look once- lingering. Admiringly if anything. And expectant.

Paris was a city of lights, kings, beauty and romance and the energies and attitudes reflected it. It was a dynamic with which Sarif was familiar.  
  
He would have, at one point, glanced at Adam- worried that the idle time would frustrate him. He wasn't sure how to express it, though. Adam was a bodyguard. He was obligated to tail him on all his whimsies and keep him from being shot or stabbed or mobbed.   
  
And yet- David wanted him t-- Would Adam even want that?   
  
The better part of half an hour goes by and they're at the Palais Garnier, like he promised.

  
The Palais Garnier was, to put it lightly, garish, elaborate and exquisite all at once. At some point in it's history, the red seating in the boxes had been replaced with velveteen black, leaving the crimson to the floor. It looked like a gilded bowl of blood.   
  
A view only the elite could see. Afford to see. From their vantage in the private boxes.   
  
Sarif apparently had his favourite seat already planned, leading Adam with a ginger touch behind his elbow and coaxing him to the seat to his left. To remind himself...   
  
Business, David.   
  
He hoped Adam liked performance art.

 

=*=

 

Adam keeps his eyes closed and then   
opens them at Sarif’s knuckles on his jaw. He makes a low, low noise in his throat and keeps his eyes lidded. hazy. a little dark but his shoulders slacken a bit, getting used to the touch.   
  
fragile, fragile?   
fragile was a strange word; fingertip serenades on thin skin, papermached onto alloy onto polycarbonate and Adam could withstand the weathering. he could withstand the rain and sun and shine and - but foreign hands could tear him apart and put him back together again and leave him a stranger. disconnected. detached. he had been angry at Sarif for leaving him to his own devices in a strange apartment with strange people and strange atmosphere and he could hear the augs whirring and working and he didn’t know  
  
what it was like to lay in bed at night, startled by your own body. by things you didn’t recognize, realize. things you couldn’t disconnect, reconnect. he had been angry upon getting shot, angrier upon growing conscious. It wasn’t the augs, so much as it was the abandonment.  
  
Adam is almost panicked to leave his jacket but there’s promise of it returning to the room; he lets it go and follows Sarif out into the night, his eyes adjusting to the change in light and he lowers the lens again, rolling his fingers and clenching them to feel his fingers dig into his palms, loosening them.   
  
David insists they go through Jardin des Tuileries - alright, he supposed. he was just tagging along, right? Bodyguard business; he was just attempting to keep David alive - right? Business hadn’t broken with the purchase of the suit; as David said, he had to dress a certain way to accompany him. He followed - tense; eyes on him. People _turned_ to look at Sarif - Adam could tell they were familiar with seeing him. He wonders who he had for protection before.

Adam manages to catch their expressions and finds them  
  
fond.  
  
Ah.  
  
Something doesn’t exactly startle in him, but ripples surprised. He meets their eyes with a turn of his head - they don’t look away. They only smile, politely, and turn back to their conversations.   
  
He eases.   
  
The theatre is something that Adam feels like he’s only seen distantly in magazines, text books; big, beautiful, and far too elegant for him to step into. Out of place, out of place. Hesitant, though he doesn’t falter in following. He holds back the urge to look around in wonder, it would have clued the crowd in that he wasn’t used to such luxuries. He didn’t want to seem out of place - didn’t want to make David a target by taking in everything draped in royal colors.   
  
David leads them up to their seats and Adam follows direction, obedient, and sits to his left. He was aware that he couldn’t pay too much attention to the show - he had to remain on guard...

 

=*=

 

Sarif had given Adam a few curious glances. If ever he lagged behind to watch his back, he's coax him to walk beside him by slowing his own pace.  
  
And inside the Palais, he grinned at Adam. "Gorgeous isn't it?" He'd ask as they sat.   
  
"I used to bring Thomas here- remember Thomas? He resigned a few months into your sick leave." He muttered, meanwhile the rest of the patrons were settling in their seats too. It was a completely full house.   
  
"Good guy- excellent security- you remember.. But I couldn't really bring him ...with me everywhere. Ya know- he lacked a certain.. _je ne sais quois._ "   
  
He patted Adam's hand gently.   
  
"Not like you, Adam." Another compliment.   
  
And then David was uncharacteristically silent.   
There was an orchestra on stage, cast in shadows as all the house's lights dimmed and everyone gave it their full attention.   
  
Four dancers, men and women in an even split. Two were augmented and two were natural.   
  
All the dancers seemed to create one creature as they moved. Her elegant, synthetic legs were his, his mechanical arms were hers. The dancers would pair off at random throughout, regardless of gender or augmentation.   
  
The music was... Serene. Melancholy. Divine.   
  
The music and movement was so exquisitely melded one couldn't tell who was following who's lead.   
  
Their dance would become violent before becoming poised. A tension built between the pair currently in focus. The orchestra expertly hand-wrote the stress in their sound. A wordless battle played out through muscle and posture. Silent landing that could have shaken the stage.   
  
Sarif felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was just the performance.   
  
He would reach to squeeze Adam's wrist carefully after any particularly impressive lunge or leap. A silent 'oh- boy- did you see that?' You love it, right? You feel it?   
  
Sarif could cry. He found it hard to look away.   
  
He wanted to focus on the augmentations but- even the natural dancers had their beauty. Both. Both were lovely.

 

=*=

 

Ah, Thomas.   
Thomas was decent - he was a good man. Quiet, intimidating. Adam had found him okay company; they didn’t go out of their way to spend time together - but the times they did were fairly decent. He did his job in protecting Sarif, accompanying the man to varying places.  
  
He supposed this would be one of them.  
  
“I remember,” he says quietly, eyeing the surrounding area and keeping tabs on the people near, around, in sight. in sight. narrowing at the stage. he’s still tired, arms resting heavy against black chairs and his fingers find the fabric and map and explore and. search. search.   
  
idle motions.   
Old habits.  
  
_Not like you, Adam._  
  
his eyes snap to Sarif and his brows raise, a bit surprised at the compliment in the moment. Oh. a soft hum of acknowledgement and he’s turning them back to the stage, leaning back. relaxing in the slightest. the lights fall and the stage is lit anew; four bodies four limbs each; machine and man. human. wholly beautiful. his eyes are anywhere but upon start -  
  
the darkness is the perfect cover for attack. his eyes skirt the area, looking for anything to move. anything out of the ordinary. escape routes. cover. weapons. and then they begin to dance.   
  
and he’s transfixed.   
  
one body, one mind. hived and heaving; he watches them move in synch, as one. all of their limbs mingled and mixed and they paired on. paired off. he watches the two men split off together and press intimate, close, bodies dipping together as they touched. the women did the same - he pushes his brows together and. leans forward. glancing to their sides, tilting his head to the back.

clear.  
  
he looks forward, again. the ramping music bumbled anxiously in his chest and he shifts at the tightness, reaching up a bit to pull at the tie. out of habit. absentmindedly. Sarif reaches over to squeeze his arm in excitement as one makes a particularly impressive leap and Adam nods as if he understands. yes. yes I saw that. yes.  
  
Adam focuses in on their augs, watches the way they bend and twist and arch and he can’t help but to swallow hard as one of the woman lunges, her aug shining under the stage light. It didn’t matter that they had augs - eyes still looked upon them in wonder. in awe. his own included, shining low in the dark. Sarif squeezes his hand again and he barely registers; transfixed on the augged male that contorts his body to fit against the natural one - their arms twisting in grace. dipping, sweeping. four hearts to beat as one, pulsing with the pounding drum of the orchestra.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had found himself glancing at Adam out of his peripherals several times when he could drag his eyes from the stage.  
  
He was alive for this; Art with function and beauty. Like augmentation- the performance was... He watched the audience below and across from he and Adam and everyone was...unmoving. Enchanted and spellbound.   
  
He couldn't help but- smile a little. He kept his hand on Adam's wrist.   
  
Was idly thumbing its construction. He traces the Typhoon port and the synthetic bracelets around his wrist. Beautiful. Beautiful on Adam. They complemented one another.   
  
Much like the dancers complemented one another whether natural or enhanced. Sarif's brows soften when he realizes he'd been thinking too hard.   
  
A dissonant click behind his ear he almost didn't register as a concierge stepped close with a silver platter of wine glasses, a gun tucked hidden near his breast under it, finger on the trigger.   
  
His heart was so busy hurting over the performance he also didn't immediately register the pain from the gunshot aimed for his chest as he lets go of Adam in a panic to clap a hand over the well of heat.   
  
The blood bowl below exploded into panic at the shot. The dancers didn't stop until a few seconds later (So engaged in their performance) when a deafening shock erupted under the box to Adam and David's left. Screams waved out from it and debris and dust choked the heavy air. The music stopped.

Visibility clouded to near zero and David quickly got up- reaching up to feel the new blood under his suit. "Adam--" He rasped testingly- eyes burning from what could only be fire-smoke; Taking a step toward him-- He stumbles instead as a rough hand pushes him back against the balcony by his collar.   
  
An agonized grunt- pain lancing through his body as his spine is threatened by the edge of the box. Pushing- curling around his throat and he's- they're trying to send him to his death. David curls his fingers around the arms. They're augged under the sleeve and he can't make out anything more. It's dark- smoky-... strobe-and-stage-lights covered and uncovered by darting bodies below. He's disoriented from pain, flashing and lack of oxygen and he knows it's only been seconds, yet it feels like an eternity.   
  
"Let's see if you can fly after all, big man." A muffled goading rasps from behind the arm.   
  
Adam wouldn't have been left alone either. The moments following the gunshot and explosion, hands would reach for him, hoping he might be surprised enough to drag him away in the confusion.   
  
Augged fingers would have tried to yank his arms behind him to coil braided-steel and cable hasps around them. Even the strongest limbs wouldn't get through enough pounds of dense alloy. Everyone knows that. (Which would mean this was calculated.) The trick was getting it around to lock the hasps first.   
  
All while Sarif struggled to stay on the safe side of the banister while his assailant tried to lift and shove him over.   
  
Whilst below; Shouting over the cacophony of screaming. Something about the performance being unholy. Something about protest. Something about money and extravagance.   
  
The usual hatred spewed against augmentation.

 

=*=

 

Adam found himself glancing at Sarif every few minutes.  
then around the room.  
aware.  
but half there - he inhales and holds. exhales. slow. eyes heavy. weighted to the stage. the crowd static, unmoving. anything offstage would have been suspicious, caught immediately by his momentarily wandering gaze. his shoulders square, and then relax. David squeezes his hand again and he ghosts a smile, rolling his free wrist and feeling the junctions talk, move. chatter. communicate up his arms and through his shoulders.   
  
He thinks he understands - it echoes through his natural muscles - buries in his neck and in his chest. electricity. nerves. he squeezes his palms and  
  
there’s a click and Adam perks up, and for weeks to come he’ll rip into himself for turning too late; but the gunshot rips through the private booth and there’s hands on him hands on David and there’s something hot and garrish that prickles his skin - something loops his joints and they try to secure him to the seat - he thinks. he jerks hard and his eyes catch Sarif looming over the railing struggling hard to stay on the safe side and his HUD is screaming something about distress and an injury an elevated heart rate and blood and he’s  
  
he balls all the terror under his teeth and sinks it down into his stomach. better to feel sick than  
  
(he can’t think of the word scared, but i digress)  
  
Adam feels - he doesn’t know what he feels. something white hot, tipping to the point of cold surges through him and everything is fever-fire hazy and he’s ripping himself from the chair, arms still bound and he’s  
  
pulling at them, there’s loosening but it’s all so tangled he doesn’t know if they succeeded in locking it in place. he doesn’t even know what it is in the moment he’s slamming his entire weight into the body the hands the weight that are threatening to drop his Boss into the writhing mass below.

his head connects to jaw and skull connects to wall and he’s aware that there’s a second body in the room - the one that had bound his hands and his augs strain and whine and they stopped aching long ago but his shoulders are poised back with the position - far more fucking ominous with the binding than without. looming black against the plume of smoke,   
  
the second body folds easily under his weight and he jerks his arms hard again, trying for that, that give. not panicked, but thrumming. thriving. This was business - he should have kept better eyes should have worked his job better he could have prevented this. If he would have insisted standing behind Sarif he could have protected him could have lingered loomed loved   
  
the performance from that position too. He should have kept that distance, shouldn’t have sat. shouldn’t had equaled himself out to anything balanced in the air of royalty; kings without crowns were bastardized; buried neck deep in damning. He should have known -   
  
“ _David_ ,” Adam is dipping to slip his weight behind Sarif and nudge him back from the edge, the weight warm against his chest and he’s - he’s inhaling the smoke and he gets the bite in his throat but his body races to filter it, “Sarif, we have to _go_.”   
  
He growls and pulls at the bindings again, trying to shift his arms in order to see what they’ve put on him, “Can you…?” He’d ask Sarif, hoping he was lucid enough to at least tell him what they’ve put on him. If he can get it off - good, Adam could carry him out which he would _prefer_ , if not, then…

Adam glances at the exit of the room, on edge, waiting for any other bodies to dare filter through.  
  
unholy, he hears, smoke heavy from below - kings reeled from the eyes of gods and sat on the thrones of the bleeding; scorched skin and they wanted to upheave the alloy from bone from metal on stage and they’d call it performance art. they’d toe around the blood and laugh and laugh and call it   
  
salvation.   
  
His chest swells, aches, but not with the dust laced air...

 

=*=

 

Whoever it was, they hadn't been so foolish as to send only one body at Adam.  
  
While Sarif was allotted one- surely he wouldn't put up much of a fight? Indeed, he worried for just a moment that he was about to lose his footing and planned for how he might be able to survive the fall.   
  
He's digging his fingers into the arm- hears-- Well, a lot. There was nothing but noise and screaming and struggling; But there's a heavy jostle and the grip loosens from his neck followed by help from a familiar body.   
  
He hears his name- adrenaline servicing his attentiveness and he's- he grabs Adam by the arm and-- coughing once in the smoke he manages a glance behind him. "I know--"   
  
He hooks a hand around it to feel it in the poor and disorientating light.   
"Steel braid-- I think I can-" He manages in the brief moment before another gunshot- this time it pings off the gold railing- but it's quickly followed by more.   
  
But there was only one way to go- into the hall where they were coming from.   
  
Sarif tries to yank Adam with him out of the immediate line of fire, stumbling against the wall- simultaneously trying to pull the hasp on the braids free.   
  
He can just barely make out individual voices- 'Kill Sarif. Take Jensen.' Sarif didn't have time to make a comment; He didn't think he had the energy or mental acuity at this point.   
  
More bodies- in the space of seconds. There would have been another rough grab for Adam's arm- neck- clothes- whatever they could get a grip on-- trying to pull him into their midst.   
  
They had to be mercenaries of some kind.

Sarif was completely overwhelmed, he couldn't make sense of the movement in the dark- screaming and yelling from every angle. He thinks he hears a woman's blood-curdled scream below them in the seats.  
  
He tries to keep a hold on Adam with a failing grip in the struggle. It's a complete mess, and he thinks someone's aiming a gun at him from within the gaggle. He thinks he feels something try to pierce his augmented arm and bounce off. A brief sting of feedback before it was gone.   
  
"Out the elbow- Adam!" He snarls, giving the steel braid a tough yank up his forearm- he thinks far enough that the nano-molecular blade might be able to skim it. He almost wanted to see if they could cut steel- in the brief second of thought outside of the panic around him.   
  
There's more shouting- a loud rumble and the floor vibrates briefly again. He thinks one of these mercs fell on the floor nearby- the subtle clack of a dropped pistol; He thinks he can find it in the dark- and does, kicking one of the chairs between he and the gunfire.   
  
Someone trips over that too.   
  
"Fuck!" Someone yelps. And then a "Behind you!"   
  
David fumbles with the pistol and fires it at someone's leg.

 

=*=

 

While the haze and heat and smoke was a disorient for Sarif;   
Adam could see through it.  
  
and it (scared) him.  
  
His eyes flicker behinds the lens and he’s counting bodies upon bodies thundering through the hall and they pause to check balconies, but it’s theirs in particular he suspects now, they’re seeking. The world is thermic riot, a mess. there’s something transpiring beneath them too - but he can’t focus on that. not now.  
  
that will unease him for weeks, as well.  
  
he doesn’t startle at the ping of bullets off the railing though he does teeter as Sarif jerks him, pulls him back and they hit the wall. Adam can feel his fingers at his wrists, joints. he’s jerking, too, feeling just a little more give as Sarif’s fingers push. pull. roll.   
  
_Kill Sarif_.  
He’s angry.  
_Take Jensen_  
He realizes.   
  
There’s a wrap of clarity through the destruction and he almost hopes he is wrong.   
  
there’s shouting down the hall - more and more pouring towards their only exit. Adam moves himself to shield Sarif while he works at his bindings and he feels the bite and bite and bite and he’s more or less a fish in a barrel; shifting aggressively to kick one of the chairs at a gunman and catch him off guard. it hits the wall and the noise is gripping; a couple bullets tear through it in surprise thinking it flesh. blood. alloy.  
  
Why are they fighting so hard to get _him_. Why not kill him, take Sarif? Isn’t that usually the way this works?   
  
He snarls like an animal, loud. hackles raising at the hands on him and they’re groping and aching and pulling and sinking into his skin and they hook deep and he’s pulling back again them - teeth bared in the smoke and he’s wondering who’s going to try and break his bloody fangs. who’s going to nuzzle the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger or   
  
if they’re just going to try and shoot his legs out - do they need him alive?

A gunshot echoes in his ear and his HUD is screeching loud in his ear, alarming him to now, the foreign metal in his body. what’s bleeding. who’s bleeding. someone tried to shoot Sarif, the hallway is bright and hot and the limbs move like flames and   
  
Sarif is saying something about elbow and the bindings loosen and his HUD screams the same and his wrist clatters and his knuckles shift and shudder and he’s jerking away from Sarif for a moment and the blade off his right arm shoots out and clatters audibly against the railing. he needs to -  
  
he needs to go.   
they need to go.   
if he doesn’t fight these, Sarif will die.   
He   
thinks they’ll   
…  
make him center stage.   
  
an art performance.   
  
he twists his arms in a way that someone natural could never manage - presses his body tight to Sarif’s and pulls, back. the arm still bound whines and groans under the pressure - his wrist shudders under the abuse and the cable loosens. so does a joint. he thinks.   
  
flinches at another bite, another ping.   
  
David Sarif may have built his augs with the intention to directly withstand the abuse of others - but he had probably never considered his own. Maybe he had - maybe he had dwelled on it. After that night in the apartment, after seeing the mirrors. the wallowing.   
  
but now.   
  
surging; his augs pulls from energy levels he didn’t usually have to touch and he’s subjected to the pinging feedback of his own arm bending in a way it probably shouldn’t. it prickled up his neck and back past his skull and his teeth and he  
  
the steel grates over his blade and he jerks once.   
jerks again.

and it releases. he doesn’t think he’s cut it, no. doesn’t think. he’s unsure. but he pulls both his arms forward and has trouble retracting his blade. it feels wrong pulling back in. catching. catching. not sitting quite right.   
  
though he’s wrapping his arm around Sarif - despite the catches and the clicks and the stuttering, abused one follows too. How strange a feeling to have your own limbs unable to move fluid move --  
  
the floor under them rumbles again and Adam decides to take a chance, there’s no way he could battle through the hall. There’s too many. “Hold on,” he’s vaulting up and over the ledge, kicking off with his feet and   
  
Malik always told him that falling through the air was liberating, that the rush was better than anything she had ever experienced before in her life. He can’t recall the fondness she spoke with as his Icarus deploys, the electromagnetics flaring and cushioning their fall.   
  
His feet hit the ground, and the screams burrow deep. he stands just before the stage and manages to scrape up the clarity enough to look around. to the carnage. to the shoutings of holy scriptures to the screams of reverence for god for god   
  
for god.   
  
god kill the augs.   
  
the limbs that moved as one beast were lost in the belly of it. red velvet red blood golden garnishes spun with dust and alloy and   
  
God bear witness to the catch alls, to holy halls.   
  
there’s a stiff limb jutting from a pile of seats. a natural arm. fingers curled. another burnt and swollen, Adam is hyper aware of the nails trying to peel. splitting skin, charred hair. a terrified face  
  
Adam would rather feel sick than...  
  
He ducks his head, curls himself over Sarif, and _runs_.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had heard them. Micro-synapses firing off in his mind delivered miniature nightmares to his thoughts.   
  
He knew Adam was... valuable. The order to take him (alive) insinuated something he really didn't want to ponder. So he didn't.   
  
He focuses on his own muscles burning as he keeps the braid extended over the range of Adam's blades and he feels him struggle- even wrapping a panicked arm over his front to keep him steady and make this easier. (Easier...)   
  
He hears the augs strain audibly under the abuse and he grits his teeth. Pain- sore- pain- it's all so damn loud- there are hands on his Adam and he finds himself shouldering a body away- rewarded with another sharp burn somewhere as a gun fired off close.   
  
There's a give- a shearing- he feels it in his palm. Meanwhile bullets fly and he's avoiding those, the blade and trying to keep the braid against the nano-blade as Adam moves against him.   
  
Sarif moves on instinct- panic settled into a frozen state of permanent, incipient urgency. A lake of shards and needles.   
  
He didn't remember the last time he'd been terrified like so. Terrified for- someone else, too.   
  
"Adam-" His voice is a furious- insistent hiss as he gives him another jerk to try and close the distance between the steel and his blade-- paired with Adam's own, the braid gives completely with a metallic pop to accompany.   
  
He knows something's wrong when the usual snap of the blade sheathing doesn't sound the way it should. He drops the cable, suddenly dizzy when his heightened attention and adrenal strength are no longer in use and he would later be grateful Adam had grabbed him or he may of fallen to his knees and found himself bleeding out.

He staggers, heard Adam's voice muzzy in his ear- knowing what he's asking without truly hearing him. He grabs him- tight- and there's a rush of movement and his spatial awareness is in shreds. He feels like he just died.  
  
They hit the floor- and he's in a vision of hell. Wait-- Did he die? He gasps audibly, tiredly-- someone running away from the gunfire barrels into them, whirls and then keeps running- and David nearly stumbles.   
  
"Oh-- god..." His tone spoke anguish and is nearly a whisper near Adam's ear. "God- no... This is--"   
  
He feels Adam move- pulling his vision into another blur and he realizes he may have shed tears in the momentary madness.   
  
But the madness only continued around them. The carnage spread throughout the theatre and Sarif knows if they survive- this was going to be a tragedy the world would cry over. When would it end?   
  
He hooks a hand over Adam's collar and manages to direct him. "Behind the right mezzanine-" He rasps. It looked like it led to a hallway. It was devoid of all but corpses and debris, but maybe they could find a way out to the street?   
  
"Jensen!" Someone yelps from nearby, voice breathless and accented. "Behind you- _eviter_ !"   
  
Gunfire- this time from the stage and- now they could see a hole blown into the side of the theatre, bodies pouring in and out. Men in t-shirts and khakis and other civilian clothing with assault weapons.   
  
A shout in French. And then "this way!". It's fucking Salvatore? He was ducking behind the right orchestra-seats and beckoning.   
  
"Through backstage! There's an exit--"   
  
"Is that Sal?" Sarif asks. "Fuck--"

 

=*=

 

They had jumped into a graveyard.   
  
Twisted sharp with limbs and sloughing skin. impalement. Adam would reflect on it later, for a long while. And then he would shove it aside, into some dark part of his mind as he saw an augged woman sobbing half dead in the tangle and there were bodies approaching and   
  
he could do nothing except turn away from her icing scream. it wormed and buried and pulled and Adam found himself - tired. he was losing blood, the Sentinel a little sluggish from being pricked so many times. being bitten. tossed into a viper’s pit, struck over and over and over   
  
and over  
  
a pile of debris, skidding in the wreckage and he can feel Sarif pulling closer. A moment earlier he has mourned for the situation at hand but Adam didn’t get that luxury. his stuttering hand comes to rest on the back of David’s head and tucked him near. he didn’t need to see much more of this.  
  
but it was futile   
  
this was just another barrell.   
  
he narrows his eyes at the fingers clasped over his collar and he, glances to where Sarif has mentioned. the mezzanine. he hesitates for a moment and perks up, his eyes shining behind the lens and his arm shakes with the strain of carrying Sarif’s weight. but he has to, he has to. He can’t take another attack - they’ll both die. This arms are only half functional, the joints are chirping and his HUD keeps flashing. a disorient. head swimming with warnings of malfunctions and Sarif bleeding and there’s bodies littering the ground and thermic pools beneath them.

Adam opens his mouth to say something and a voice startles him back to the smoke, the madness. there’s more pouring in and his head swims for a moment. He sees the source of the voice - Salvatore. He darts again, the mass of bodies making his split second decision for him...he hopes it’s the right one.   
  
Down the Mezzanina, the possible hallway beyond would have been too tight. To be ambushed back there meant certain kidnapping, disassembly, death. For the both of them. Adam couldn’t take that _big_ of a risk - though by dodging out and following Salvatore, he _was_ jumping into the jaws of a possibly hungry lion.   
  
They could snap.   
They could chew him hard and whole and pull him bloody and   
  
he had to. trust the man that had warned him of earlier danger. Sal hadn’t sought to capture him upstairs, something Adam thinks could have been the smarter idea. He can guess by now that the attack on them was not part of God’s Great Mercy downstairs. It was too premeditated. though this may be part of their plan --  
  
“It is,” Adam’s voice is gnarled but he moves in Salvatore’s direction, scattering backstage to this supposed exit and holding tight to Sarif, teeth bared in a snarl and the nano blades are ready to deploy, the Typhoon ready to screech to life. he’d get them out, _he’d get them out_ one way or another. had to.

 

=*=

 

Sarif had since closed his eyes, nose wrinkled in his upset and unwillingness to look around them again.  
  
How did things arrive here? He thought maybe-- Maybe things were going to get better but hatred and fury always had it's throes in death. Loud reminders that it could never truly be defeated- like Hercules and the hydra. Cut off one head and another few tore out to take it's place.   
  
Speaking of Greek gods, Nemesis and the furies.   
  
Pritchard.   
  
"Jensen! It's all over the news-- please tell me David's alive. Because I'm _pinging your location_ directly at the _center of the Palais Garnier?_ "   
  
And then Salvatore.   
  
"Jensen-" He would reach out- as if to hasten Adam's approach by pulling at his arm. A split second as he reached out to touch Sarif. Adam was carrying him- shit.   
  
He quickly retracts his hand and beckons him to follow as the floor was swallowed in gunfire.   
  
"This way-" The Frenchman, unexpectedly, ducks under the stairs that lead near the back of the stage-- a door. A very unassuming door to tunnels underneath the Palais.   
  
"If you're hesitating- don't." Came Pritchard's obnoxious hiss. "I've already told Malik- Get to the Garden of Tuileries- south of you. You need medical attention and are reading a busted servo- so quit using your fucking ar--"   
  
A pause.

"Are you carrying David?" That made sense. Pritchard's tone softened. He'd nearly gotten pissed at Jensen for further injuring himself when it was entirely necessary. He left him alone after that.  
  
In the tunnels- Salvatore was trotting ahead, occasionally glancing behind him. There were a few amber-lights down here, allowing some vision.   
  
"Mon dieu. You're both bleeding. I tried to get to you sooner--" He was muttering quietly- voice carrying easily down the thin corridor. "I couldn't have through them- it's good you jumped- though quite literally out of the pan and into fire- yes?"   
  
"Sal--" Sarif interrupted. "Who sent--..?"   
  
"Me? Later. I tell you later."   
  
Sarif opened his eyes and glowered at the swiftly passing concrete walls. These must be tunnels that led around the premises and parking garage to assist the workers.   
  
"First- we must be away from here. They are looking for your man, Jensen." He glanced back and looks pointedly at Adam. "You."

 

=*=

 

His head is swimming;   
His eyes actually burn from the smile - the skin around them irritated.  
  
He takes it back, he didn’t miss that.   
  
Pritchard comes droning in his ear and he answers with a rallied groan. buzzing, buzzing. “David's alive, Pritchard.” He’s following Salvatore now, near comforted at the fact that Francis is here too - could be prepared if this is a trap, if this is something they might not survive. He wanted to trust Sal - he wanted to put his faith in him, like David.  
  
But Adam’s been burned, far, far too many times.   
A certain name burrows. he fights back the tumbling growl. that’d eat up energy, have to conserve energy. have to get him out. back. back home, back to safety. that was his job. that’s why he was here.  
  
They barrel through a door and suddenly the cacophony is muffled. the screaming and yelling a discordant, hazy wheeze. he can’t imagine any survivors have been left alive. Pritchard tells him not to hesitate and he wants to snap something angry but he hears that Malik is near and that  
  
smooths him over; blinks the smoke and charr from his eyes and he keeps pace with Sal - his HUD still sobbing at the lack of attention he’s given it. Francis rolls onto venomously tell him to take an easy and then he must - yes, he realizes. his own answer is a growl with little bite - he thinks he may actually be dizzy. his arm stutters as he pulls Sarif closer, worried. worried?  
  
worried about his  
boss  
…  
?

The darkness is almost a comfort - and then he’s brought back to the theatre. swallowed in the soft black of entertainment, gargled red and bullet gold. he remains tense, on edge, waiting for Sal to snap and turn on them at any moment.   
  
Seemed to happen far too often, lately.   
  
“Sarif needs medical attention,” is all he can say to Sal as he continues to remain near his side. “Yes,” Adam narrows his eyes, “I had to jump, there was no other way to escape _that_.” The mounds of men diving to their room, a wall of heat; “I would have rather taken my chances down below than what he had been facing.”  
  
he tugs Sarif closer, “Me.” He doesn’t question what they’re after, or why. He has a feeling he knows why. His feet fall heavy against the concrete, the thumping echo of his feet a demanding sound. “They’re after _me_.”   
  
a curl of heat in his stomach, chest. sick. sick.  
he doesn’t want to leave that all of the bodies left to fester in the theatre aren’t directly thrust upon him in blame, but the irrational part of him wants to accept responsibility. it’s be easier to swallow, that way.   
  
“Garden of Tuileries,” he reiterates, “Salvatore, I need help getting there. My pilot is waiting for us.”

 

=*=

 

Sarif was mostly incoherent at this point. He didn't have the benefit he'd bestowed upon Adam; The Sentinel.  
  
While Adam could keep himself stable after damage, Sarif deteriorated- exsanguinated. He does keep a hold on him though- fingers curled over Adam's collar.   
  
Salvatore only nods in the meantime. "They are. I..." He beckons Adam down a south-facing corridor. In contrast to the dry heat of the theatre, it began to feel muggy and wet.   
  
This hall led to a tributary off the Seine that flowed in and under the city- it seemed. It opened up to a walkway on both sides. Cramped, abandoned, but clearly still in use.   
  
A way for those who knew of it's existence to get around Paris undetected?   
  
"DGSE has not betrayed David- but someone else has betrayed us. And... In return- I too have had my own...Ah- disingenuously." He is still in a hurry- but it is less urgent, the trouble above falling behind.   
  
"I know he does. Ah- Though Tuileries- which runs parallel to la Seine- we are on one of it's branches."   
  
He pauses to glance behind him- eyes flickering to David- back up to Adam.   
  
"I can take you to the Garden. Your pilot must take you far from here." He points the way into the darkness. "I too, must leave." He flashes a sardonic grin.   
  
"I will have made enemies over coffee after this." He comments.   
  
The water did eventually rush under a grate- presumably into the Seine beyond. They were about 10 minutes down the tunnel when Salvatore trots up a small flight of stairs that swirled around and led... Into the night air.

A rush of moving air and they would have been under an archway in the southeast of the garden- overlooking the Parisian river.  
  
North- the sky was red and choked with siren lights and smoke.   
  
"Adam-" Sarif manages to rasp. "Put me down." He orders, clearly woken up by the sound of a VTOL and fresh air. David hated that Adam had to carry him.   
  
He surmised that the fever-dream of the theater to here, he had been carried in Adam's arms and time- ceased momentarily. He had to stop being a burden and squirmed a little in his arms.   
  
He tries to look away when he winces. "Malik--" He observes. She got here quick. Poor girl.   
  
And Salvatore stood nearby giving Adam a hard look.   
  
"I wish I could tell you more." He jerks his chin in the direction of the open area of the garden. "Perhaps we meet again, Jensen."   
  
David only hears the tail end of this. He's too tired to comment or ask questions. He pinches his eyes shut to chase off the last of the burn.   
  
Paris had always been good to him. Now what will happen? Why did it happen? Someone was after Adam- but now... who? Fuck.   
  
The first point of interest that came to mind had become something of a dead end, hadn't it? Literally.

 

=*=


	2. a little bit genghis kahn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Paris anxieties turn a late night visit into early morning affections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short RP that Smoosh suggested just be updated as a second chapter since it's directly related to Paris.  
> Here, have some sickening fluff stuff. 
> 
> I start off with Jensen, Smoosh follows in with Professional Dad, David Sarif
> 
> title: https://open.spotify.com/track/6MDijuuArPJv1vbp7K1x3f

=*=

sleep doesn’t grip him as it should.  
he stares at his ceiling.  
stares.  
breathes in.  
holds it.  
stares.  
exhales.  
  
his chest aches; his eyes catch the swell of it, bouncing from port to port. to port. he can still smell the smoke. see the red burning, eaten by fever-dream nightmares. crawling up the seats, the aisles. blonde hair on a charred head. burnt fingers still curled into bloody fabric. smeared so deep into the patterns, heaped on so thick…  
  
Adam can almost feel Sarif in his arms; the lack of weight makes him sick. He had almost failed, he had almost let the David Sarif be gunned down in a theater booth or tossed over the side to his death. on the burning rubble, the torched tables. black and cracked, the wood splintered and screaming.  
  
Ah. That spurs something in his chest. hooks in sharp and pulls, red and angry. It’s enough to make him twitch and startle, prompting him to sit up abrupt. hands raising to curl against his skin. the silk black sheets (another gift from Sarif) pool over his naked hips and he heaves out a sigh. eyes unfocused on some corner of the mirror. he can see himself off in the distance.  
  
he doesn’t recognize himself. sleek and dark, the light of his skin near lost in peripheral. Sarif. Adam swallows hard. Poor mangled Sarif. Laid across the floor of the VTOL and Adam had to peel back that beautifully bloodied suit to lay hands on a heaving chest. riddled angry and red, peppered with bullet holes. his hands had trembled in the slightest.  
  
Nobody had noticed.

His HUD twitters to life and  
2:24 am.  
there’s an angered rattle in his stomach as he swings himself off the bed, toes curling against the floor. he runs the flat of his hand over the edge of the bed - the sheets used to ride up there; Sarif had feverishly fixed that issue. He had tossed up those intricate hands in frustration and had given Adam a _look_ upon a previous visit.  
  
The _properly_ fitted sheets were his next gift - delivered directly to his front door by Sarif himself.  
  
Adam abandons them tonight.  
Any other night he’d welcome their gentle embrace. but. something's wrong. he feels like somethings wrong. it’s a heaviness in his chest he can’t claw out he needs to -  
  
he dresses himself. slips on his jacket, and whisks himself out into the cold. it washes over him, but his feverish head keeps his eyes burning and all he can see is  
  
David, pressed up against the banister and terrified. hands wrapped tight around dark forearms. the weight under his eyes heavy and demanding - it unsettles him. The thought of what could have happened. what could have been. he could have been carted off to god knows where to be dismantled, and David would have been tossed to the anti-aug wolves. kicking up their fire-burned feet, mouths open and demanding meat meat meat  
  
meeting David at this time - he really hadn’t thought the interaction to follow through. Adam slips with ease through the darkness and he’s so hazed that he doesn’t even realize he’s standing at Sarif’s door until well  
  
he’s there.  
  
Adam hesitates and. rings the bell. he reaches up and tugs at one of the sleeves of his jacket, running his thumb and forefinger against the fabric. he looks a bit disheveled - his eyes trace the elegant trim of the door and Adam  
  
expects David to answer the door looking perfect, well put together, as usual.

=*=

Coming back from Paris was a blur. Having hoisted themselves onto the VTOL, David had simultaneously shrugged the strain foisted onto him once he'd been set down.  
  
He had been bleeding. He remembers feeling anxiety when he saw the way it spilled between his fingers when he reached for the source of it.  
  
David didn't bleed. And having time away from immediate panic had forced him to face it. His own blood. He could have died.  
  
Just like that. The burning wick of an empire snuffed out with bullet fingers. He remembered grabbing for Adam's arm to steady himself as he sat, half-on-half-off the settee in the bay of the VTOL.  
  
At first it was just Adam- He didn't protest when the other delved past his suit and- he may of been sheepish had he not begun to go delirious as the adrenaline washed from him and the pain took it's place.  
  
He remembered crying out as one of the medical staff Pritchard had sent along with Malik pried something out of a bullet-hole. An unfamiliar feeling. Foreign- foreign. He had grabbed Adam's wrist hard.  
  
Fo--  
reign--  
A personal visit- from the sounds of it.  
  
David rarely did true social calls.  
  
He had been... Sitting by the window again. The window he'd been sitting by the night he decided he couldn't take _not knowing_ anymore. And had gone to check on his Adam.  
  
He tucks his hand over his breast to close his robe. Another thing brocaded and strung with gold.  
  
He measured his breathing- a soreness in his ribs from he and Adam's adventure to Paris as he approached the door to the left of the elevator. Brushes a hand over his hair to smooth it and unfolds a wrinkle of his sleeve.  
  
Brows furrowed as he peeks carefully around upon opening. Who--  
  
"Adam?" He's bewildered, bearing the door open all the way in his surprise.  
  
"What are you doin' here, son?" His tone lilts higher with his astonishment and he finds himself leaning forward a fraction to peek down the short hall.  
  
"It's... It's late- Something the matter?"  
  
Nevermind he had been awake too. Too lost in brimstone and hellfire reverie to lay down. It may have been obvious in his eyes. He thinks he see it in Adam's too.  
  
"Come in?" He asks testingly. Why on Earth would Adam want--?

 

=*=

 

Adam had sat with an exhausted David buried against his side on the way back, still half in his arms. his fingers had slid up to card through Sarif’s hair, working slow against the scalp. something intimate something quiet. the tech from the med staff said nothing; only scribbled down notes furiously as Malik barrelled them back towards Detroit.  
  
The poor man was exhausted and surely traumatized. Adam had kept him close to comfort him. They were here, alive. very much alive. His less stuttery fingers fell to toy at the collar of Sarif’s torn suit, the pad of his thumb bumping against David’s jaw in the process. touch. touch. Adam absentmindedly runs it back along his jaw, under his ear. stroking soft. gentle. comfort.  
  
for who?  
  
His arm shuddered with the misalignment of the nanoblade; the mechanisms kept trying to fully close, kept trying to clamp shut and the servos and circuits were rattling. rattling.  
  
“David,” he greets softly as he sees David peek, and then open the door in full. As expected; he looks put together. looks like he’s at least gotten some rest. Sarif looks like he could walk into work tomorrow and carry on business as usual.  
  
there’s something haunted gathered in the corners of his eyes.  
Adam could agree.  
  
There’s no answer at first; he does come in when prompted though. Adam inhales hard, and closes the door behind him. softly. gently. It clicks, a small chatter through the air around them. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, finally, far too long after the question was first asked.  
  
Adam lifts his eyes to look to him, look over him. he remembers David’s weight on the VTOL. Remembers the fingers curling against his collar as he ran through the theater, fever hazed and lowly panicked. the smell of blood and burning skin, hair. David’s fingers slipping against skin. feeling, feeling. trying to direct him.

hold him in front of that broken mirror, arch him pretty and his skin is  
  
fragmented in the low lighting of the house. “I…” he hesitates and pulls his arm closer into his side, tugging at the seam of the jacket’s shoulder, “Was worried about you.” he narrows his eyes as he drops them to the floor - traces the hardwood with his eyes, following up where it meets each wall. where it crawls into something even more elegant, more refined.  
  
he combs again, tracing to Sarif’s feet  
and then looking up to meet his eyes.  
  
“I…” He starts, “I was hoping…”  
  
To spend the night. He makes some motion with his hand, joints no longer stuttery. smooth. He thinks David will be relieved to see them fully functioning again, to know that they were permanently mangled from the abuse. He can still be beautiful.

 

=*=

 

Sarif turns back around, poised somewhere at the center of the open space. He seemed to like open floor plans. Plans, even.  
  
He blinks, holding a hand in front of him aimlessly as he squeezed his fingers together thoughtfully.  
  
First he had to convince himself that Adam was _here._ It was so unlike him, really. Adam had always been-- well, Adam never went out of his way to socialize- let's start there.  
  
"Couldn't sleep- Heh." He echoes. "Yeah-... Yeah, me neither, I-- Oh." Worried about him? He turns, circling around to the kitchen. Brow hard as he considers that Adam had been. Worried. Actually.  
  
Really. David had almost died and Adam saved him from a hellfire fate. And he was here again- worried. His expression softens as he moves around a quartz island.  
  
"Well, I don't have ta' ask you to make yourself at home. Go on. Can I--" A tink on the white quartz counter- Even the cracks were filled with gold and glossed over satiny. "-Can I get you-? Something?"  
  
He raises the glass high enough to wiggle it at Adam. "American whiskey's the best- I... dunno about you- It's all I stock here..."  
  
He curls his fingers around a bottle and brings it close.  
  
"I noticed you do.. a lot of Jack Daniel's so-" He carefully pours a Tennessee distilled whiskey into one of his doubles. And then another for himself.

He clears his throat, trying not to draw attention to Adam's unfinished statement. Anything to follow the words 'I was' and 'hoping' were already more than David had ever come to expect from Adam's lips.  
  
He approached, proffering the glass, pausing-- noticing the other hadn't removed his jacket yet and he grins.  
  
"Go on. Lose the coat and sit down, yeah?"  
  
The lounge in Sarif's foyer was sunken into the herringbone hardwood, affording a few extra, precious inches of city-scape for him to watch. As he did.  
  
He carefully carries himself down the step and circles to a rich leather chesterfield. Flanked on both sides by end tables of fine make. He takes one end, crossing his legs.  
  
He hopes Adam might. Sit with him.  
  
"I see they got your arm workin' again."

=*=

 

Ah.  
David couldn’t sleep either.  
He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and balls them tight. twisting them against the fabric. Adam slowly follows him in and his eyes flicker around him. He never forgot that David Sarif enjoyed the lavish things, but seeing his place of living was another thing entirely. Especially so early in the morning - the man unsuspecting of his company.  
  
his mother had always tried to keep a neat house for last minute guests, she said a “the state of a woman’s space always said the most about her” and Adam always thought that was...ridiculous. He’d just shake his head and help his mother clean, of course, but he thinks of her oft when he steps into his own apartment and sees the stack of two bowls, void of cereal, piled on his coffee table. empty cups gathered neatly in the kitchen sink. papers. parts. scattered. but.  
  
semblance.  
  
He’d always give a short noise, akin to a snort, before slinging off his jacket and settling down. she’d be horrified to walk into this. he’d sink into the couch, somewhat proud, and just bask.  
  
Adam lifts his head at the tink on the counter and opens his mouth in an attempt to refuse what’s being offered but he quiets down when he hears the word whiskey. “That sounds fine,” he remarks softly, giving David the ghost of a smile. His eyes catch the gold cracks in the counter. linger on them for more than he’d like.  
  
his eyes flicker down to his forearm and he thinks of the thin lines of gold that razor through his own augs. Adam nods to himself after a moment. shoulder slacking, a little more relaxed. David is here. safe. he’s safe. he’s not dead.(edited)

“Jack Daniel’s _is_ a favorite,” he sighs the slightest bit fondly, eyes fixating on the amber liquid rushing in to fill the space. He swallows tight and pulls a hand out of the pocket to reach up and touch his neck, pulling at the skin a bit, feeling at the muscle beneath it.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmurs softly and takes the drink, their hands brushing for a moment before David tells him to lose the jacket and he’s. near relieved. he does - setting down his prized whiskey before shrugging it off and hanging it up, nearly. running his fingers down it to smooth over the fabric, feeling it catch. purposeful.  
  
He steps out of his shoes too - signaled to Sarif only the thick, demanding steps that follow him into the living room a moment later. Adam, tips his glass to his lips before sitting down near Sarif - not quite at the other side, but not quite next to him. a respectful distance. he sinks into the leather and shivers, leaning back against the cool material. it sticks to his neck.  
  
hesitation, “yeah.” he lifts it up and curls it, rolling his fingers, “took them awhile, but they did.

 

=*=

 

The neatness of David's space could have said a lot about him too. It may even say that he was rarely home.  
  
It was a shockingly quiet space, however. Aside from the occasional rumble and shudder of a passing private aircraft, it was silent.  
  
Detroit glittered in the distance and one might be forgiven for hearing the gentle pinging of glass shards tapping each other while suspended. That's almost what the city looked like from up here.  
  
He hears a tacking on his hardwood and realizes a moment later it was Adam's heels. His head almost turns, but he caught himself as he'd sat. He'd heard that particular chord a few times and always told himself he should stop wanting to hear it more.  
  
Why did he want to hear it again? He drinks, eyes flickering sidelong as Adam sat nearby before they're back on the city.  
  
"Yeah.." He rumbles. "Sorry about that, kiddo." His brow hardens again as he cradles the glass near his chin but- keeps it suspended.  
  
Adam made him. Nervous. And yet, now that he was here, he couldn't bear to see him leave. He brings his other hand up to brush his own fingers over the whiskey. He swallows. Words snag at the back of his throat.  
  
"Thanks for-- Paris." He says tersely. Paris. I mean- a lot happened in Paris and yet- all of it was worth thanking for. Thank you for keeping my company. Saving me. Letting me touch you. Saving me again. Carrying me.  
  
David narrows his eyes at the window.  
  
Was he indebted to Adam?  
  
David Sarif didn't owe anyone.  
  
He turns to glance at Adam as long as he dared. He looks down, then back up.  
  
"For--" Coming here. Worrying. Being there. He turns his head back forward quickly. "Yeah. You get it."  
  
Damnit, David.

=*=

 

The silence of Sarif’s apartment is -  
Adam closes his eyes.  
  
he basks in it.  
he tilts his head back and takes the liberty of relaxing just a little. a little bit more. he feels. better. he didn’t have to claw the feeling from his chest, didn’t have to mutilate himself to fish the gold from his lungs. didn’t have to heave it from himself, trace his veins, manhandle his heart.  
  
Adam had followed the feeling.  
He felt a nearby ping off the string anchored into his chest. the sound of glass whittling in the wind, ringing. ringing. drowned in the soft, cold howl. he doesn’t feel the need to chase it - he is content.  
  
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Adam pulls a leg up to cross over his lap as he opens his eyes to look over at Sarif, brows furrowing. Sarif didn’t have to adopt responsibility for the slow fixing of his arm - from his understanding it had been somewhat of a tedious fix. Something they didn’t expect to find until they opened him up.  
  
He takes a drink of whiskey, shivering at the thought. his teeth rattle against the glass at the movement. They sit in silence for awhile; Adam was lax in David’s presence, but that also didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the tension and nervousness that seemed to brittle David’s demeanour. Ah. Strange. He feels near guilty for a moment - David was just inviting him in to be polite, was just humoring his worry for him. He should really leave -  
  
and then  
  
David thanks him, for Paris.

Oh.  
  
Adam leans across to the other side of the couch and gently rests his glass there. Near empty; his fingers slide back along it as he pulls away to rejoin David. “Of course Boss,” he says after a few moments, giving the thank you time to linger in their air between them. It’s tense at first, though grows into something warm, comfortable. The alcohol thrums for a bit longer than he expects and it pleases him. His head is hazy and hot - sleep had cradled him earlier in the morning and he felt her pulling back, wanting him for herself. Adam sighs through his nose and tries to stave her off  
  
He,  
Hesitates and  
  
sits forward a bit again, resting a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezing, “Are you okay David?” His voice is a muzzy rumble, a damn near purr. He knows Sarif has been through a lot of trauma since Paris - the ex cop still murmuring in him gave touch. gave positive touch. soft touch. something that presented itself as safe.  
  
he lifts his eyes and looks to the window, the muffled howl a distant call back;  strangely familiar. He abandons figuring it out in favor of David’s reaction.

 

=*=

 

And yet. He did.  
  
He doesn't say it. Can't ever say it. His brows furrow for just a moment as his eyes take him to a mist-shrouded operating room and it's a sea-spray of blood. It hadn't been that much blood back then, had it?  
  
He remembers it differently, perhaps. The feeling was novel and monumental.  
  
Now his troubles just felt monolithic.  
  
But-- Adam moves close after he thanks him. Reaches out and- The feeling returns- foreign but not troubling. Trickles up his spine- defying gravity.  
  
He splays his fingers over the glass. Flexing; And he glances at Adam. "Am I--? Am _I_ okay?" He almost smiles.  
  
Then he does. And arches his arm out to set his own finished whiskey aside before- He hesitates.  
  
Touching Adam everywhere else felt different. David was- confident. In foreign spaces. Places of work. Places he ordinarily dominated. The spheres of other people were mapped and bleary. He was being a leader there, when he eased their hearts and minds.  
  
This was suddenly- different. Showtime was over and Adam was behind the curtain with him. Just he and Adam.  
  
He settles his synthetic hand on Adam's and dares to squeeze. "Yeah." He looks at him, voice a little quieter than usual.  
  
No.  
  
But getting there.  
  
He holds a level gaze. Wouldn't be dominated in his own sphere.  "Yeah, I am." He echoes himself. And tries to hook his fingers around Adam's palm.  
  
He felt like he needed to. Felt like he needed it. Who did?  
  
David had a natural heart. Or, at least, if he didn't, it wasn't like Adam's. The alcohol did it's work muzzing his senses and he- looks pointedly down between them.  
  
He's squeezing his hand.  
  
Look up, David, damnit. He looks up and frowns. And says with- not quite a whisper.  
  
"Not sure I'd be here without you, Adam."

=*=

 

Thankfully, Adam remembered nothing about the operating room.  
He didn’t remember the blood that rivered over lost limbs and thin shoulders, over operating room tables and onto the floor. Did it pool? did it heap? did they let it sit sick until it was thick and congealed? Did nobody question the removal of nearly _all_ his limbs?  
  
What were the excuses, were there any? Was it _really_ necessary? Adam is alive, but he is also human. curious. always moving. always thinking. wondering. questioning. He was a good cop, but then again, good cops rarely questioned their orders. He hadn’t shot a child, who shoots a child?  
  
Adam had always questioned authority - elementary, middle, high, academy, precinct, Sarif. Sarif was no exception, no different. The only thing he hadn’t done is truly vocalize it yet...but that was for another night, another time. Where hell hasn’t just bitten at their heels, the puncture of hound’s teeth still fresh. still there.  
  
still there.  
still here,  
  
with his hand on Sarif’s shoulder and he could almost call the other shy - or maybe just tired. he avoids looking at him and attempts to fight back some exhausted smile. fingers slow curling against the glass. flexing. stretching. repeating the question, and Adam nods - stroking his thumb against muscle, applying pressure with the motion before easing. a comfort. he loses the battle.  
  
Adam admires the way Sarif’s face lights up when he smiles.  
  
It’s just them here. Tucked tight to early morning, something raw and quiet. sleep deprived. a walking fever-dream that neither could sweat out. fire and brimstone still settling in their heads, their bones. polycarbonate or not - the heat retained. the embers had yet to be snuffed. Adam still found himself haunted when he woke in the morning.  
  
Shh, there are ghosts here - he wonders what their names are.

David’s fingers find his and squeeze. almost uncertain. Adam pulls a bit closer, closing the uncomfortable stretch of his arm and giving it some slack. bent loose at the elbow. something a little more solid - David assures that yes, yes he’s okay. fingers find his palm, try to curl. try to squeeze. pull him closer. he thinks he can feel them trace over divots and lines, but he’s lost focus on that feeling.  
  
Adam has never seen Sarif avoid eye contact this purposefully. Something in the air shifts. Something fond worms itself under his collarbone and balls up in his throat. His sentinel murmurs, echoing some lost drum torn out in an operating room; his eyes are seaglass, muted colorful in the morning light.  
  
Sarif’s voice breaks the silence and his eyes turn upwards and Adam can tell he’s not alright. That he’s lying. But he understands why he feels the need to, why he can’t admit that he’s still traumatized. still hurt. aching. his people slaughtered like cattle, treated no better than animals - worse than animals. cornered and executed. the world had wept for Paris - God save the augs.  
  
“You’re welcome David.”  
  
He almost says it was his job, to not worry about it, that it was _nothing_ personal. Adam, stop denying things. Dammit, stop getting so caught up in yourself and see the heaviness around his eyes, still there. It never left. He pulls the hand back off of his shoulder and lifts his arm  
  
inviting Sarif, if he so chose to press closer.

 

 

=*=

 

David remembered everything about the operating room.  
  
The way the blood, now-thin, trickled easily. The scolding of his surgeons. Reassuring them they wouldn't kill Adam with the addition of yet another augment on the list.  
  
He'd acted fast. He had to. Adam was seconds away from complete brain-death and-- He would have been no use to anyone dead.  
  
He squeezes the hand tighter.  
  
He knew Adam wasn't always completely on board. He hoped that... this would convince him. That had convinced him. So far, it's been like putting band-aids on a cracking dam.  
  
He still manages to grin at him.  
  
And still manages to keep eye contact even after Adam answers.  
  
His brows knit into the slightest hint of a frown as he regards him. If he could keep looking at Adam, he wouldn't have to see the inferno and charred limbs behind him.  
  
They blurred. And it was just Adam.  
  
Movement, and Adam lifts an arm. It required about one second of hesitation before David looks down between them- sighing through his nose and leans in. Sleep-deprived, muzzy and sparks at the back of his neck.  
  
He bumps against Adam's side with a quiet huff. And it's as though Paris slid away.  
  
He can't help but sigh again. He'd come this far why not just--  
  
He squirms a little on the leather and turns his knees in, bumping one into Adam's leg and he settles against him.  
  
He wasn't sure why he was terrified to be turned away. Maybe Adam did want this.  
  
He dares to rest a tired head on Adam's shoulder. He smells the whiskey and Detroit's rain. He rumbles in the back of his throat. And he's sliding his hand off of Adam's and across his chest- hooking gingerly around his far shoulder and pulling him even closer.  
  
"I'm glad you came." He mutters into him.

=*=

 

All Adam remembered was isolation.  
Hands on him from the moment he woke up to the moment they threw him home and then there was nothing. no touch. nothing negative, nothing positive. just ghosts. haunting corners. fixtures. living rooms. bedrooms. bathrooms.  
  
They looked strangely like himself.  
  
He had confronted one in the bathroom.  
Another in the bedroom.  
  
The creature had opened it’s mouth in some dry, shaking laugh. near silent except for it’s skittering claws on the hardwood floor. He had turned to confront that too, but faltered as it positioned itself near threateningly over the couch, through the fog. he had floated back to bed at that point. Hadn’t heard Malik come in and clean up the bathroom. Hadn’t heard her concern. His eyes has fixated on a space on the wall and kept there. transfixed. entranced. anything was better than looking at his arms. legs. chest. listening to the whirring in his head.  
  
And then, Sarif had showed up.  
  
And then, Sarif didn’t hesitate to lean into his side.  
  
Adam hooks an arm around him and pulls him closer. tries to ease any stiffness that comes along with the offer. The small huff that leaves Sarif is - well - Adam’s thumb catches the other’s clothes. pulls just gently. down to the skin and curls there. against the muscle. There you go.  
  
Here we go.

It’s awkward for only a moment longer before Sarif is squirming closer, bumping limbs together and it’s at that point Adam can sink into the leather and relax. That Sarif wants this too, that he wasn’t reading the situation wrong. A warm weight rests against his shoulder and Adam immediately rests his cheek against the top of his head. Everything heavy. Sarif smells like whiskey, honey, and the maybe-muzzy hint of home. he’s. comforted. the weight is back. the weight he carried through the theatre, onto the VTOL. the world he had protected.  
  
full circle.  
  
he sighs soft, and slow to the point where it’s dizzying. he tells himself it’s the liquor. it hasn’t worn off yet. that the sentinel is sleeping, that it just hasn’t woken up to chase it away. That it’s not when David’s careful hand creeps across his chest to wrap fingers around his shoulder and pull him closer. heavy and purposeful. far more at ease. Adam brings his other hand up to curl around his forearm and squeeze, turning his forehead further against him.  
  
yes, the liquor. intoxicating. that’s what it is.  
this was the liquor.  
  
his stomach warm, rambling up his throat and he chuffles out a noise as he settles. He looks to Detroit, resting just outside and he feels as if she’s blind to their early morning affections; there’s no prying eyes. no assassination attempts. no business calls. no bumbling coworkers. no superpowered soldiers trying to kill them.  
  
they linger against the skyline of Sarif’s empire.  
  
“Me too.”  
Soft, quiet, muttered into his hair.

=*=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments are appreciated! More RPs to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated!! It helps us know you actually like reading these ;v;


End file.
